


A Babysitter's Dozen

by AI07



Series: Company of Outlaws, Family of In-laws [4]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, And Aging Up, Baby Dwarves, Bilbo And Gandalf Are Reluctant Babysitters, Brotherly Love, Cute But Mischievous Beardlings, Dwarf Courting, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Fluff, Gandalf Messed Up, Helpful Elves, Iglishmêk, Khuzdul, Love Confessions, M/M, Prank Wars, Rating May Change, Slow Build For Days, Teenage Dwarf Drama, Thorin Is An Emo, Toddlers, and a little romance, childhood crushes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-08
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-24 14:31:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 31,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2584763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AI07/pseuds/AI07
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"<em>Now it is a strange thing, but things that are good to have and days that are good to spend are soon told about, and not much to listen to; while things that are uncomfortable, palpitating, and even gruesome, may make a good tale, and take a deal of telling anyway</em>" – The Hobbit, <em>A Short Rest</em></p><p>According to Bilbo Baggins' writings, the Company of Thorin Oakenshield spent two weeks in Rivendell – two weeks that Thorin and his Dwarvish companions would prefer not to talk about.</p><p>After a particular spell goes awry, Bilbo and Gandalf are suddenly saddled with thirteen baby Dwarves. They can only return to normal at the end of fourteen days. The <em>real</em> problem is that they age up every three days.</p><p>It's one thing to handle babies, but can Bilbo and Gandalf deal with troublesome Dwarf toddlers, unruly children, rebellious and broody teenagers, and spirited young adults in the space of fourteen days?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How It All Began

**Author's Note:**

> I really must be studying, or at least updating "The Resolutions Project" and "Under Lock And Key", but this idea popped into my head a month or so ago - and a few days ago, the plot-bunny brought it back with a vengeance. Khuzdûl and Iglishmêk are written in italics. Hope you'll enjoy! :)

Bilbo did not know how, nor when, nor where.

However, he could understand _why_.

From what Gandalf told him, it all started on their first night at the Last Homely House, an hour or so after Lord Elrond looked over Thorin Oakenshield's map. When Gandalf, Thorin, Balin and Bilbo had returned to their companions – although the Hobbit immediately went to his quarters for his first proper sleep in weeks – the Dwarves were in the middle of a loud argument.

They were arguing about, of all things, the subject of courting.

Or rather, that nearly everyone in the company was courting each other without their siblings' (and cousins') knowledge.

According to Gandalf, the argument began when Fíli was teasing Kíli mercilessly about his short-lived "attraction" to the beautiful, fair and elegant Elf harpist that played for them whilst they were dining that afternoon – only it turned out that the harpist was a male, as Dwalin had pointed out, much to Kíli's embarrassment and to everyone else's amusement.

"It's just as well, lad," said Dwalin to Kíli after Fíli had his fun with him. "You wouldn't have had much of a chance with an Elf master, let alone an Elf maid."

Everyone sniggered at this.

Kíli scowled at his second-cousin.

"At least I have more of a chance _successfully_ courting an Elf master than _you_ courting Ori," he spat.

Things, the Wizard informed the Hobbit, had escalated from that point onwards.

A livid Dori had flown into a rage after Kíli dropped that comment, demanding Dwalin to explain himself "at once, if you please, otherwise I won't hesitate to use brute force on you!" It was then that Ori stood up, and – after pulling Dori back from the bald warrior Dwarf – told his silver-haired brother that Dwalin was in the process of courting him.

Dori nearly had a heart attack. "When did this whole courtin' business start happenin'?" he cried, looking from his brother to Dwalin and back again with wide blue eyes.

"Shortly after the quest began," Ori quietly replied, blushing somewhat when Dwalin took hold of his mitten-covered hand.

"Aye, and _way_ before Bofur got into Nori's pants," added Kíli in a sly, vengeful tone.

Things, Gandalf informed Bilbo, _doubly_ exploded at that moment.

Instantly, Bifur was up, roaring at Bofur in Khuzdûl and trying to get his hands on Nori at the same time. Nori, who hid behind Dori (who was battling to decide if he ought to defend his younger brother or throttle him – after all, how could he be acting indiscreetly with _Bofur_ , of all Dwarves! – or if he should take the opportunity to get his own hands on Dwalin), tried in vain to reason with the axe-embedded Dwarf, whilst Bofur, with Bombur's help, tried to hold his cousin back, saying:

"I know ye don't like him much, Bif –"

" _I like him as much as Dori likes Dwalin!_ " Bifur angrily signed, glaring daggers at the thief in question.

"But he's a really lovely sort, once ye get to know him," continued the hat-wearing Dwarf calmly.

Bifur threw a dark look at his younger cousin. " _I don't want his sticky hands anywhere near me, or_ _ **you**_ _, for that matter!_ "

"Oy, I resent that!" Nori barked, poking his head out from behind Dori with an angry scowl. "You don't 'ave t'be nasty, Bifur! At least you don't spot Glóin gettin' on yer case for yer relationship wiv Óin, or Dwalin on Dori's because 'e's bonkin' Balin."

Things, Gandalf explained to Bilbo with a long, drawn-out sigh, pretty much fell to pieces.

Soon Glóin, Óin and Balin had entered the fray. Glóin nearly had a fit right there and then, demanding to know just when and where this relationship between his older brother and the axe-embedded Dwarf began, whilst Balin tried his best to calm down Dwalin, who was livid that Dori had the nerve to express his disgust with his and Ori's courtship yet he was courting his older brother without him knowing. Needless to say, Óin had some choice words for his brother regarding his enquiry ("You mind your own bloody business, Glóin!" was one of them), and Balin chastised Dwalin for not even telling him, his own flesh and blood, about courting Ori.

"Courting is the type of matter that ought to be discussed with one's elders before it is carried out," the white-haired Dwarf was saying to him.

Here, Dori angrily turned on his One. "What, you don't think Ori is good enough for him?"

"I didn't say that, love –"

"You implied it," Nori chirped in, also looking affronted.

"Deal with Bifur before you deal with me and my brother, you berk!" barked Dwalin.

"Not before I deal with Bifur myself!" snarled Glóin.

Óin was having none of it. "I'll disown you right on the spot if you so much as lay a finger on him!" he growled.

"I blame ye two for this," Bombur grumbled to Fíli and Kíli, glaring at them. "Yer shenanigans riled up my brother and the other lads."

"I didn't do anything!" protested Fíli, his cheeks puffing up in anger. He pointed an accusing finger at Kíli. "It was my dumbbell of a brother who started it!"

"Don't kid yourself, you idiot!" cried Kíli, flushing an angry, crimson colour. " _You_ were the one who teased me about that BLOODY Elf in the first place!"

"Who are you calling an idiot, you bestubbled brat?"

"Who do you think, you moron?"

"Why, you little _hubma rakit_ –"

The argument was reaching its boiling point, and the arguers themselves were increasingly close to coming to blows. At this point, a fed-up-looking Gandalf looked pleadingly at Thorin, who was trying his utmost to ignore the whole ruckus. The dark-haired Dwarf caught the Wizard's eye, and sighed deeply. Then, without a word, he got up and approached the Company, loudly calling for silence.

"Really, does it even matter who is courting who?" he asked them when they all quieted down.

Dwalin snorted. "Leave it out, Thorin. You don't know what it's like, seein' as you're not courtin' anyone."

"Oh, but he has his eyes on someone, Dwalin," Kíli crooned.

"Kíli, be quiet!" thundered Thorin, his ice-blue eyes flashing with ire, though his cheeks were burning red.

Everyone gaped at him.

"Who is it, Thorin?" asked Balin, sounding flabbergasted.

"No one, Balin!" Thorin retorted indignantly. "Kíli is just spouting a lot of nonsense."

"Am not," grumbled his dark-haired nephew.

"I said _be quiet_ , Kíli!"

But Kíli, having had a taste of trouble-making, wanted to try his luck again.

"You're wanting to court someone in the company, Uncle," he declared, "but you're being so darn miserable about it. That's why you've been acting catty for the last few days."

Thorin was incensed. His nephew might be a few years older since his coming of age, but he was still young enough to get some sense slapped into his head.

Kíli gulped when he saw his uncle's deadly look, and he all but ducked out of the way when the older Dwarf tried to pounce on him.

"Get over here!" Thorin roared, his ice-blue eyes aflame as he attempted to pursue his sister-son.

"Help, he's crazy!" Kíli cried, dodging out the way of his uncle's impending grip. "All this because I thought that Elf was a lady!"

"No, it's because you're a _hubma rakit_!" cried Fíli.

Now, to say that Gandalf was beyond frustrated at this point was … well, his temper was at an extreme high. No really, I'm not exaggerating. The Wizard was sick and tired of the conflicts that erupted between these ruddy Dwarves, and, as he watched Thorin chasing after Kíli whilst their companions continued to bicker among themselves like little children for the _umpteenth_ time…

He. Had. _Enough_.

_They're in for it now!_

_This will teach them to act like babies!_

With a wave of his staff, a ball of bright light burst forth. The room was enveloped by a humongous white flash; the voices of the Dwarves, as well as Thorin's curses and Kíli's screams, died out, and their forms were swallowed by the light's great intensity. So intense was this brightness that Gandalf had to shield his eyes.

After a few seconds or so, when the light began to die down, Gandalf removed his hand.

The Dwarves lay out cold on the ground. Kíli, who had jumped on top of the balcony before the Wizard cast his spell, had fallen back on an unconscious Thorin. Dori's hand was still holding onto a lock of Dwalin's hair, which he had begun pulling as the argument resumed, whilst Bifur's hand lay outstretched nearby Nori's head, ready to grab the thief's neck.

Looking at his handiwork, Gandalf chuckled to himself.

"Not bad," he muttered under his breath, sounding quite proud of himself. "I've never performed a knock-out spell before. Indeed, not bad for my first time."

The comatose Dwarves were unceremoniously carried off to their respective sleeping quarters by a few Elves who "volunteered" (ie. were forced by Lord Elrond) to perform this task. It took three Elves to carry Bombur – one to support the head, one to carry the middle and the other to hold up the legs – whilst another Elf made catty remarks about Kíli's "infatuation" with his harp-playing friend, who blushed furiously and nearly chucked Bofur's dead-weight at him.

Gandalf retired to bed afterwards, congratulating himself once more on his superb spelling skills.

Of course, he did not stop to consider that he _may_ have made a slight error with regards to his aforementioned spelling skills.

In other words, Gandalf messed up.

But then, Bilbo already gathered as much the following morning.

The Hobbit was sleeping contentedly when there was a loud _knock-knock-knock!_ on his door. He did not stir until yet another _knock-knock-knock!_ was heard, one which was accompanied by an audible cry, "Bilbo Baggins, get up! Get up, I say!"

Bilbo buried his face in a pillow with a groan.

_Not today, Gandalf. I'm sleeping in, so help me, all that is sacred in this blessed world._

_Knock-knock-knock!_

"Bilbo, I know you can hear me! Open the door! You can't ignore me for long, you know!"

"Watch me, you dastardly old codger," Bilbo mumbled, pulling his comforter over his head and curling into a ball.

_KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK- **KNOCK**!_

"BILBO BAGGINS, YOU OPEN THE DOOR THIS **INSTANT** OR I WON'T HESITATE TO BLOW IT DOWN!"

"Waaahh! Waaahh!"

The Hobbit peeked out from under his comforter, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

 _Is that … the sound of a_ baby _?_

 _A baby …_ crying?

"Waaahh! WAAAHH!"

"Bilbo," Gandalf's voice rung again over the crying, only he sounded utterly tired. "Open the door. _Please_."

"WAAAHH!"

_What the devil is going on?_

Swinging his feet over the side of his bed and rubbing away the last remaining sleep in his eyes, Bilbo slipped on his sleeping gown and hurriedly padded over to the door.

When he swung it open, he was met with not one, but  _three_ surprises:

One: a haggard-looking Gandalf, standing before the Hobbit with bleary eyes, unbrushed hair and a tangled beard, and a _blanket-wrapped baby_ , _wailing for Middle Earth, cradled in his arms_ , which immediately drew Bilbo's attention.

Two: it was not an ordinary baby, Bilbo noticed, neither Elvish or belonging to the race of Man. Instead, it was a wee _Dwarf_ baby.

And three: when the baby paused to take a breath from its incessant crying, Bilbo immediately noticed that its wide eyes, brimming with tears, were a familiar ice-blue colour. Almost instantly, the Hobbit recognised those orbs, as well as the patch of black fuzz on its head, and most importantly, the utterly creased and miserable expression on the baby's face …

Bilbo looked up from the screeching babe to stare at Gandalf. A flabbergasted look was plastered across the Hobbit's face.

"What did you _do_ , Gandalf?" he spluttered.

The Wizard bit his bottom lip, rocking the bawling baby to calm him down, but he – or _Thorin_ , to be precise – refused to stop. He just kept on screaming; needless to say, Bilbo had the urge to do the same at Gandalf.

"Gandalf …" the Hobbit rumbled, feeling dread running down his spine.

"Well …" Gandalf finally answered, wincing when Thorin angrily pulled at a lock of his beard. "You see, it's quite a story to tell, my dear fellow …"

"Gandalf," Bilbo started slowly, gesturing towards the dark-haired baby, "if _this_ happened to the others as well, which I strongly suspect _has_ happened, then I have an even stronger feeling that we'll be staying in Rivendell for quite a long while. And believe you me, I have ample time to hear your "story"."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hubma rakit - ****hole (oh Fíli, you potty mouth). 
> 
> Well, I think this is the first time that Gandalf is not being a meddlesome troll; he usually is in my stories. XD Ah well, he's in the same boat as Bilbo, so he, too, will have to suffer - er, I mean, look after adorable Baby Thorin and his equally-adorable companions. Let's hope they can survive these two weeks!
> 
> Comments/kudos are welcome!
> 
> *~AI07~* :)


	2. Would I Lie To You, Baby?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo is going to kill Gandalf, Gandalf has a hard time with baby Thorin, and the Elves have a hard time with Dwarf babies.

"They'll only turn back WHEN, Gandalf?!"

Gandalf shrunk under the gaze of a _very_ peeved-looking Hobbit.

"Please, Bilbo, you'll scare Thorin," he said quietly.

After much cajoling, cooing and rocking from the bedraggled Wizard, the dark-haired Dwarf baby had finally ceased his crying, though his face was still red and creased in that miserable look that Bilbo was convinced was the miniature version of an adult-Thorin's default expression. His plump cheeks were stained with innumerable tears. His ice-blue eyes, seemingly bigger and watery from all the tears shed, would wander up to look at the ceiling of the Hobbit's quarters then back to Gandalf, who tentatively held him in his arms as if Thorin was a rabid baby Troll ( _if there ever is such a thing_ ). Whenever Thorin shifted in his arms, the Wizard merely tightened his hold.

"Ah gah," Thorin gurgled in protest, beginning to squirm.

"Hold still," grumbled Gandalf, holding the babe ever closer.

"Ah gah," the baby Dwarf gurgled again, looking on the verge of tears again. "Ah _gaaah_."

Bilbo raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "For goodness sake, Gandalf, let him _breathe_! He's already got a blanket wrapped around him. The least you can do is loosen it – it's probably stifling him, and your death-grip isn't helping in that regard, either."

"I'm doing my best," the Wizard hissed, yet he did what he was told. Loosening the blanket somewhat, Thorin's body relaxed. His arms and head became more mobile, and his rosy skin grew less red. With a tiny hand, the Dwarfling grabbed a piece of Gandalf's beard-hair, giving it a strong tug.

"He's been doing that ever since Lindir discovered him like this in his quarters," sighed Gandalf, gently prying the little fingers off his beard with a pained look. "Pulling at my beard as if it were a toy or something."

"Well, if _I_ was suddenly transformed into a baby by the likes of you, I'd be pulling at your beard until it's ripped clear off your face," barked Bilbo heatedly.

He then waved a dismissive hand. "But back to the subject. Where on Yavanna's sweet earth did you come up with fourteen days? How on earth are we going to look after _thirteen_ Dwarvish babies for _fourteen days_ , I ask you?"

Gandalf grimaced. "I've seen this particular spell cast before, if you must know. Dear Radagast … a gentler soul never lived, but he isn't the best at interacting with people."

His eyes clouded over at the memory, and he shuddered.

"A whole family of six turned into babies … Saruman nearly cut off Radagast's head and then some," he muttered to himself, shuddering once more.

Gandalf looked up at Bilbo. "Lord Elrond has already been notified of this predicament –"

"More like a fiasco."

"I'll appreciate it if you don't interrupt, Bilbo," the Wizard grumbled, balancing Thorin on his knees (his hands wandered too close to his beard for his liking). "As I was saying, Lord Elrond is aware of the situation, and he is graciously willing to accommodate us for the next two weeks. His attendants have orders to help us in looking after the Dwarves and to provide us with resources such as clothing, food and equipment. And I can tell you right now, Bilbo, that looking after a baby Dwarf can be a tiresome business –"

"Well, congratulations, you got thirteen Dwarf babies on your hands now."

"Bilbo …"

"Alright, I'm sorry. Go on."

Gandalf sighed, ignoring the sharp pain in his hand as Thorin's chubby fist closed itself around his index finger and squeezed tightly. "Looking after a baby Dwarf, or _Dwarves_ , in our case, will require all of our energy. I'll especially need your help in the first three days. That's how long the first stage lasts –"

"First stage?" the Hobbit interrupted once more, unable to help it. "What do you mean by that?"

Instead of chastising Bilbo for interrupting for the third time, Gandalf bit on his bottom lip in a precarious manner.

"Uh, that's the thing, my dear fellow," he said with a cough. "Thorin and the Company … they're babies _now_ … but every three days, they … well …"

Bilbo's sense of dread deepened.

"Gandalf, what happens every three days?" he quietly asked.

The Wizard lowered his gaze, his orbs resting on the black fuzz atop Thorin's head.

"In order to return to normal, the Dwarves age up every three days," he finally answered.

Bilbo stared hard at him.

"You are _not_ being serious," he croaked, shaking his head. "You are _not_ …"

"I'm being deadly serious," said Gandalf, still looking down at the dark-haired baby. "They'll remain babies for three days, after which they'll progress to the toddler stage. Then, it's the tween phase, followed by teenagers, then young adults, and finally the spell will reach its full circle –"

"Every three days," Bilbo groaned, his voice full of stunned disbelief. His face fell into his hands. "Every three days, and we have to deal with toddlers, and children, and …"

_This can't be happening …_

"It's the only way, Bilbo," Gandalf said calmly, looking up at the clearly unhappy Hobbit. "Of course, it's unlikely that they'll remember their past adult lives, including their relationships with us. So, the first thing we need to do is to gain their trust before they can do anything stupid to themselves or to each other. I'll bet they won't trust Elrond or any Elf for that matter, so it falls on us to act as authority figures. For that, I need you, Bilbo Baggins, to be strong."

"Gandalf, I thought I already had enough on my plate with thirteen babies," Bilbo cried, throwing his hands up in the air, "but I don't know how I will cope with Dwarves that are babies one day and toddlers the next! Not to mention the other stages, Yavanna take me …"

"You will have to cope," Gandalf said quietly. "Out of the two of us, you have the most experience in caring for children. I dare say it's an achievement to mind those little Took cousins of yours."

"Hobbits and Dwarves are TWO ENTIRELY DIFFERENT THINGS!" Bilbo suddenly screamed, his cheeks red with anger.

Gandalf flinched only slightly (he had a feeling that this might happen – Bilbo was never one to take news well), but Thorin reacted quite differently.

Upon the Hobbit's exclamation, the dark-haired baby was startled from his impending attack on the Wizard's beard-hair. The loud noise was evidently too much for him to handle, for his eyes began to water and his already-creased expression wrinkled even more.

"Ahh, ahhh," he whimpered, sniffing and puffing his chest. His mouth began to quiver.

"Oh no," Bilbo whispered, horrified. _What have I done?_

"Now, Thorin, don't cry," Gandalf begged, lightly bouncing the babe in an attempt to calm him down. "Hush, don't cry. Bilbo didn't mean it. _Please_ don't cry, Thorin."

But Thorin did not heed the pleading Wizard's words.

"Ahhhh, ahhhh … waaahh! WAAAHH!" he cried, squirming violently against Gandalf's hold.

"Now you've done it!" Gandalf barked, glaring at a sheepish Bilbo as he tried to maintain his grip on Thorin. "Hold still, Thorin. Be a good baby and be quiet now. There's no good crying."

"WAAAHH! WAAAHH!" Thorin continued to wail. His face had attained that ghastly red colour, and he was beginning to wave his fists in the air. He looked, and sounded, incredibly heart-sore. "WAAAHH!"

"Thorin, you'll hurt yourself, carrying on like this!" Gandalf cried, wiping the baby's face with his sleeve, but the tears kept on coming. "No need to fall to pieces!"

"WAAAHH!"

Bilbo shook his head at the scene. That was _not_ exactly a good way to soothe a baby. Gandalf sounded highly stressed, and it just did not help to calm the already-stressed infant in his arms. The death-grip also fuelled the fires, as Thorin was clearly uncomfortable. And the way the Wizard spoke to him – why, it was as if he was speaking to an adult!

_Honestly, Gandalf is hopeless!_

But instead of saying these things, the Hobbit spoke over the din, saying, "Would you like me to take him?"

"Yes, please!" Gandalf said hurriedly, sounding relieved upon hearing the suggestion. Before Bilbo could dare to make a comment on his quick agreement, the Wizard got up and leaned down, passing (read: shoving) the wailing bundle into the Hobbit's outstretched arms. "Just do something – _anything!_ – that will make Thorin stop crying!"

Bilbo raised an eyebrow at him, but he said nothing more to Gandalf. Instead, he turned his attention to Thorin, cherry-red and wriggling madly in his arms.

"WAAHHH! WAAHHH!" he screeched, his mouth so wide that one could see his tonsils. "WAAHHH!"

"Shhh," Bilbo crooned softly, slowly cradling him. "Shhh, shhh."

"WAAHHH! … waaaahhh! …"

"Shhh, shhhh, alright," said Bilbo soothingly. "It's alright. Shhh, shhh … it's alright …"

As sure as anything, Thorin's wriggling began to slow down until his body was still, giving itself up to both the lulling cradling and the calm noises that the Hobbit was emitting.

"Waahhh … ag … ag gah, waahh," Thorin whimpered, looking up at the curly-haired creature with his big, wet blue eyes. "Gag gah …"

"It's alright now," Bilbo half-said, half-sang. Carefully, he lifted Thorin and, supporting his lower body with his left arm, rested the babe's dark-haired head on his left shoulder. Bilbo gently began to rub Thorin's back in small circles, humming all the while.

"Ah, ah," the Dwarf infant murmured, burying his head in the Hobbit's neck.

"There, that's better," Bilbo hummed, patting the little tyke's back. "It's _alright_ …"

Gandalf watched this entire scene with wide eyes and a smile. Honestly, he could not believe it! In the matter of a minute or so, Thorin was putty in Bilbo's arms. The change was a drastic one – the dark-haired went from a bawling baby to a bundle of content the moment the Hobbit laid his hands on him.

Bilbo looked up, frowning when he saw the Wizard's almost gleeful expression. "What are you grinning about?" he mumbled under his breath; he could tell that by his breathing that Thorin was beginning to fall asleep.

"Nothing," the Wizard answered softly, unable to hide his grin. "Goodness, you get on with Thorin better than when he was an adult."

The Hobbit rolled his eyes, rubbing Thorin's back again. "Well, this is the first time that my screaming made Thorin cry. He'd never let that happen as a grown Dwarf, nor would he let me comfort him. Fíli and Kíli would laugh themselves silly."

Suddenly, the mention of Thorin's nephews brought Bilbo back to reality. He looked at Gandalf, and, in a very soft voice, for the dark-haired babe had ( _thankfully!_ ) fallen asleep on his shoulder, asked, "Gandalf, where are the others?"

Gandalf pursed his lips as he remembered the others.

"Follow me," he said.

* * *

The large, sunny room which served as Thorin, Fíli and Kíli's sleeping quarters had suddenly been transformed into a nursery, and it was bustling with activity. Or rather, it was utter pandemonium.

When Bilbo, Gandalf and a sleeping Thorin entered the room, they were greeted by the loud cries of dissatisfied babies and the sounds of Sindarin. Surprisingly (and luckily), Thorin did not stir from his slumber; his head was burrowed in Bilbo's neck, and he seemed content enough to stay there. Bilbo could see many of Lord Elrond's attendants running back and forth, pushing cribs and changing tables that had been long disused against the walls. Some were moving in and out with items such as nappies, bottles, creams, blankets and baby clothing.

But one Elf in particular was having a difficult time. He stood near the Wizard and the Hobbit, trying in vain to calm down a red-faced baby, who was waving its clenched, tattooed fists in a fierce tantrum.

In all the years of his life, never had Bilbo Baggins seen a tattooed baby, let alone a tattooed _Dwarf_ baby.

_Why, that's … that's …!_

Gandalf followed Bilbo's astonished gaze to the temperamental baby and sighed.

"Yes, that's Dwalin," he confirmed.

"My goodness," whispered Bilbo, staring at the moody, tattooed baby. "Even as a baby, Dwalin's still an angry old thing."

Unlike the adult Dwalin, this baby had a dark tuft of hair on its head that was sticking upwards, which partly covered the patterns on his scalp. In the throes of his temper tantrum, baby Dwalin looked reminiscent of his grown-up self when he was fighting in battle.

 _Only it's not a war-cry – he's just crying in fits and jags_.

That reminded Bilbo of a thought.

"Their weapons and possessions," he said, looking at Gandalf. "Have they been locked away? The thought of them as children playing around with their weapons will give me nightmares."

"A fair point," replied Gandalf, nodding. "Lord Elrond had his attendants carry out that particular task early this morning. Either he had the same thought, or he doesn't want the Company to accuse him of stealing once the spell wears off."

Bilbo nodded, patting Thorin's back as he felt a shift of movement from his little body. His eyes wandered to a baby lying back-first on a changing table and being attended to by an Elf, who was pinning a nappy on him. Like Dwalin, the wee babe also had a dark tuft of hair sprouting upwards. If it had been white, and if he had a flowing white beard instead of a smooth chin, Bilbo would have instantly recognised him, but the slightly larger-than-average nose and the twinkling, gurgling grin soon provided the answer.

"Balin," the Hobbit said.

Gandalf nodded.

The only reason Bilbo recognised Dori was because of the silver earring that adorned his ear. The mother-henning Dwarf was now nothing more than a small bundle with a layer of auburn fuzz covering his head. He was being dressed by an Elf, though he tried his best to wriggle out of his grasp. Clearly he did not like the clothing being placed on him – fit for an Elvish build, it was excruciating to pull the shirt over his sturdy head (being Dwarves, their heads were slightly larger and harder), and the pants restricted his leg movements. That, and the clothing was a garish green colour. Bilbo could hardly picture Dori in any colour other than his highly-respectable shades of red and purple.

Needless to say, Dori was displeased, and he showed as much by whining and squeezing the poor Elf's fingers as he adjusted the auburn-fuzzed baby's collar.

"Still has strength even as an infant," murmured Gandalf.

Nori was found in the arms of an Elf, pulling at the tall being's dark locks in an attempt to pull his shiny hair-beads off. He gurgled in triumph when a braid came loose, but he screamed in protest as the Elf tried to take back his hair-bead gripped tightly in the thief's paw. Bilbo noted that the Dwarf baby's auburn hair was longer, its ends reaching the nape of his neck. His eyebrows were thin and short, no longer braided in the improbable hairstyle that he sported as an adult, but his eyes held a mischievous glint that Bilbo knew all too well.

Ori was being cradled by another Elf – Bilbo recognised him because he, too, sported the signature Ri auburn-coloured hair. A few freckles were dotted across his face. Like Thorin, he looked quite content as he was being rocked. He was fairly quiet ( _that's just like him_ ), gurgling happily every so often. His eyes would wander all over the place, from settling on the shenanigans of Nori and Dori to just taking in the activity around him.

Further away from the chaos, near the back of the room, a Dwarf baby sat on a changing-table. There was some darkish fuzz on his head, though Bilbo could not distinguish if it was black or just a dark shade of red. The distinctive hook of his nose, however, gave him away.

"Is that Óin?" queried the Hobbit.

"Yes, it is," answered Gandalf.

"What are they doing to him?" One Elf supported little Óin's back so that the babe was leaning against him, whilst another Elf held what looked like a pair of finger cymbals near his ears.

"They're just making sure that his hearing is in order," Gandalf replied. "If he experiences lack of hearing as he transitions into each phase, I'm not sure it will benefit his speech development. I fear it might carry on to adulthood unless we check regularly."

The Elf with the finger cymbals pressed them together, he and his associate watching for Óin's reaction. The Dwarf baby blinked, moving his head towards the direction of the sound. The Elf repeated the action in the left direction, and the infant moved his head towards the left. After doing this a few times and getting the same reactions, the attendants looked up at Gandalf and nodded.

"Good, his hearing is fine," said the Wizard, sounding relieved.

Nearby on another table, another baby with flaming-red fuzz was yowling away as an Elf tried to stick a pacifier in his mouth. His wrinkled face was rosy in hue, and a noticeable scar over his left eye stood out from his reddened skin.

"Poor Glóin," said Bilbo sympathetically. "I bet he's cursing away at that Elf in that baby language."

"I bet that's why he's getting a pacifier in the first place," chuckled Gandalf.

Little Glóin was defiant, spitting out the pacifier in a raging fury every time it entered his dribbling, protesting mouth. To us humans, he looked reminiscent of a bundle of dynamite just ready to explode. As if to spite the Elf even further, Glóin belched loudly. Saliva with bits of food residue issued forth from his mouth and cascaded down his front. He made a pleased sound when the Elf made a horrible face.

"Good grief, if his son could see him now," said Bilbo, feeling queasy at he sight.

Bombur was not hard to miss. All babies are naturally quite chubby, but baby Bombur was the chubbiest of the lot. Gone was the fantastic, rope-like beard that adorned his front and the bald spot on his head – instead, fluffy orange hair covered his entire scalp. His cheeks were large and flush, and his overall frame – from his fingers to his toes – were pudgy. If you can remember, it took three Elves to carry him. This time around, one Elf was managing just fine with that task … barely, but managing somewhat.

The attendant was feeding the Dwarfling with baby formula and was finishing up. But upon removing the bottle, Bombur – surprised at the sudden removal – burst into tears. He balled up his hands and howled like the end of the world was near. He drew his tubby legs up in the air, his body curling.

"Perhaps he's still hungry?" Bilbo told the Elf, a little scared at the way Bombur was carrying on.

The attendant groaned. "But we already gave him his feed four times!"

" _Four times_!" The Hobbit was appalled. "In a _row_? Without burping him, no doubt! That's not good for a baby. He could be gassy and we might not know it."

The Elf paled. "What do you recommend?"

"Lay him out on his back and lightly rub his belly," he replied. "That'll help to expel the gas."

If Bilbo's eyes were not deceiving him, the Elf paled even more.

"A-A-Alright," the attendant murmured, taking the discomfited babe over to the changing table where his friend was finishing up with Balin. He dumped Bombur on the table, uttered some words to his companion in Sindarin and swiped up Balin before his friend could protest. Soon, his companion was readying himself to carry out Bilbo's advice, gulping as he looked down at the chubby bundle.

"Rather him than me," Gandalf muttered under his breath.

Out of the corner of his eye, Bilbo noticed some movement coming from one of the cribs. Drawing himself nearer, he found, upon closer inspection, that it was yet another baby Dwarf. This one lay on his back and wrapped in a blanket. Short, black fuzz blanketed his head, and his dark eyes stared up in a dazed manner at the mobile swinging above him.

Also, a large chunk of an axe-blade, one size and a half smaller than his head, stuck out of his forehead.

Bilbo felt his heart burst with sadness.

"Oh dear, poor Bifur," he whispered.

His heart burst once more as little Bifur tried to move his head on his side, but the weight of the axe-blade was preventing him from doing so. He whimpered tearfully.

"Is that axe causing him discomfort?" Bilbo asked Gandalf, who sighed.

"A bit," he answered wearily. "Lucky for us, an Elf healer has provided us with a salve that we must apply around the wound at least two-to-three times a day to ease his discomfort. Although, when carrying him, we have to be careful. We have to support his head at all times."

"I'm sure," the Hobbit answered, reaching into the crib to pat Bifur's head. The baby Dwarf turned his gaze towards him, cooing softly. His pudgy fingers closed around Bilbo's fingers, giving them a tug.

 _A baby version of Iglishmêk_ , thought Bilbo with a smile.

Sitting in the crib that stood next to Bifur's own crib was a similarly dark-haired baby, but his locks were curly and a deep, chestnut-brown. He was sucking on his podgy fingers, issuing pleased sounds all the while. His cheeks were home to the biggest dimples Bilbo had ever seen, and his eyes were a twinkling, topaz-blue colour.

But then, because it was Bofur ( _who else could it be?_ ), his eyes were always full of merriment and delight.

"At least he's happy," Bilbo remarked.

Gandalf snorted. "Well, you didn't see the massive tantrum he had before he was brought here."

"Oh? What happened?"

"The Elves took away his hat."

"His hat?"

"Yes, his hat," the Wizard affirmed. "The darn thing won't fit over a baby's head, so the attendants decided to lock it away with the rest of the Dwarves' possessions. But you know how Bofur is attached to it, even as a wee babe … he nearly broke it in half whilst they were trying to pull it away from him. Bofur nearly made me deaf, but he cannot compare to Thorin."

Bilbo rolled his eyes, patting Thorin's back without thinking. But yes, he knew Bofur loved his hat like he loved his brother and his cousin. If memory served the Hobbit right, Bofur would go to sleep in that blessed thing – goodness, he was sure that the hat-wearing Dwarf wore it once or twice when he was bathing!

_A greater love between a Dwarf and his hat never existed._

_Splash! Splash! Splash!_

"What on earth …?" said Bilbo, turning around at the splashing noise.

_Splash! Splash! Splash!_

Two Elves stood over two basins, their arms, faces, clothing and hair soaking wet. They were muttering – well, more like growling, and most likely cursing – in Sindarin under their breaths. Another wave of water hit their fronts, and their muttering turned into squeals, whines and extra curses. A cacophony of coos and delighted noises emitted from the sinks, where two Dwarflings were sitting waist-deep in soapy water.

One of the babes was a little bigger than the other in terms of height, and his scalp was riddled with fine strings of golden-blonde hair that was dripping wet. He cried with pleasure when he brought his tiny arms down and smashed the water, causing it to splash their Elf handlers and the other Dwarf baby in the next basin. But this baby, with his clump of dark-brown hair that bordered on black, did not cry. Instead, he watched the older baby's movements and mimicked them. He would also repeat the same sounds that the other emitted, adding his own intonation of pleasure to his sounds when the golden-haired baby acknowledged his efforts by splashing him.

"If that's not Fíli and Kíli, I'll eat Bofur's hat," said Bilbo with a shake of his head. At that moment, Thorin was shifting once again. He could feel the dark-haired babe mumble against his neck.

The duo continued this game until the Elves, fed up at this point, pulled them out of the basins.

That was a terrible mistake.

One must never, never, never, _ever_ separate Fíli and Kíli.

"WAAHHH!" Fíli cried, his face flushing an angry red colour.

"WAAHHH!" Kíli cried in return, waving his arms madly in the air.

The Elves tried rocking them and humming to them to calm them down, but the brothers were having none of it. They bawled ever so loudly, with the addition of tears and sniffs and puffing chests. It was like two baby Thorins having tantrums.

Speaking of Thorin, the baby Dwarf was beginning to stir in Bilbo's arms.

"Ag gah," he uttered, lolling his head from side-to-side on the Hobbit's shoulder. "Ah gag gah."

"Towel them down, wrap them in blankets and place them in a crib together," Bilbo cried to the Elves. "Quickly! Quickly!"

The Elves obeyed. They towelled the Dwarflings down, wrapped them in blankets and practically ran to a crib next to Bofur's. They gently placed the babes down in the crib, and – as if they sensed each other's presence – the infants' cries began to die down. Fíli reached out with his tubby arm and touched Kíli's creased face. His brother whined in protest and mimicked the movement, brushing his hand against Fíli's button nose.

"Ah ghee," Fíli gurgled. "Ah _gheee_."

"Ah gheee," Kíli cooed in turn. "Ghee, ghee, ghee!"

"Ah gheee," the golden-haired baby uttered, sounding almost proud of himself.

"Ah gah," Thorin burbled loudly now, wriggling strongly in Bilbo's hold.

"Uh oh, he's awake," said Gandalf, sounding fearful as the dark-haired baby lifted his head, looking around.

"Easy, Thorin," Bilbo whispered, lifting the babe off his shoulder. He brought Thorin forward, once again cradling him in his arms. "It's alright. Everyone's alright."

To his horror, little Thorin's blue eyes began to fill with tears.

"Nuh nuh," he croaked, sniffing. The hands were balling into fists. "Nuh nuuuh …"

"Oh no," Gandalf and Bilbo whimpered at the same time. "Not _again_ …"

"Nuuuhh … aahhh … nuaWAAAHHH!"

The cry was almost primal in quality. It was as if an animal was being tortured and flayed alive. Baby Thorin's face was tomato-red going on purple, and his toothless mouth was wide open to expose his tonsils. Spittle flew out with each screech, and his fists shook in a rage.

"WAAAHHH!"

"Shhh, shhh," Bilbo crooned desperately, but the babe refused to be shushed like before. He wailed as if it were Gandalf holding him.

"WAAAHHH! WAAAHHH!"

To everyone else's horror, the rest of the Dwarves responded.

As if on command, Dwalin, Balin, Dori, Nori, Ori, Óin, Glóin, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, Fíli and Kíli all opened their mouths and _screamed_.

At. The. Same. _Bloody_. Time.

"WAAAAAHHHHH!" they cried. "WAAAAAAHHHHHH!"

"WAAAHHH!" Thorin sobbed, entirely heart-sore.

The Elves threw curses as they tried to calm the baby Dwarves down in any which way they could from humming to rocking them to patting their backs, whilst Bilbo did his best to do the same with Thorin. As he did so, the Hobbit glared at the Wizard, who flinched at his hard gaze.

"When these two weeks end, Gandalf, I'm going to kill you," he hissed. " _And_ you're going to be on nappy-duty from now on."

The Wizard merely groaned, on the verge of tears himself.

Day 1 had started off _terribly_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Reveling in the love and support that this story received* You have no idea how happy I am to have received such lovely feedback to the first chapter! Thank you all for the great start! You get this chapter and a night to babysit Thorin and Co. as a treat. :3 I guess the next chapter of "The Resolutions Project" will come next week instead. Forgive me *offers baby Thorin as a bribe*. Also, the chapter title comes from the Charles & Eddie song "Would I Lie To You?". Apparently, my mother would sing this to my sister when she was a baby, holding her like Bilbo holds Thorin during his crying fit, except with a little dancing. ;)
> 
> I think Tumblr has the inability to recognize the difference between a "/" and a "&", because it thinks there's Fíli/Kíli in this story. No Durincest here!
> 
> So, let me know in the comments below about your fave/hate moments, what you think about Baby Thorin and a Baby Company (and Elves and Gandalf with no childcare experience)! Again, kudos are nice, but I want to hear your thoughts (don't worry, I don't bite).
> 
> *~AI07~* :)


	3. A Single Hobbit's Guide To Babycare: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For beings that have been around for hundreds of years, Elves sure need a lot of help when it comes to taking care of babies, especially when said babies are Dwarves. Thank the Valar for Bilbo Baggins.

**SCHEDULE PERTAINING TO THE CARE OF**   
**THE COMPANY OF THORIN OAKENSHIELD**   
**(As prepared by Bilbo Baggins**  
**on this day 10 June)**

 

07.00 AM – 08.00 AM: _Wak_ _ing_ _up;_ _feeding;_ _bath-time_

09.00 AM – 11.00 AM: _Play-time;_ _feeding_

11.00 AM– 12.00/13.00 PM: _Nap-time;_ _feeding_

13.00 PM – 15.00 PM: _Play-time;_ _feeding_

15.00 PM – 18.00 PM: _Nap-time;_ _feeding_

18.00 PM – 20.00 PM: _Play-_ _time_ _;_ _feeding_

20.00 PM – 21.00 PM: _Bed-time_

02.00 AM – 03.00 AM: _Night-time feeding_

– _Twelve attendants are to be provided for in the caring of these infants during this three-day cycle. It is important for the Dwarves to establish a bond with their respective handlers, otherwise play-time will turn into fussy-time._

– _Gandalf will **readily** be available if assistance is needed during nappy-duty._

– _Schedule is subject to change upon progression into the toddler stage._

– _Notes will be added over time._

_~ ~ ~_

Gandalf whistled when he looked at the schedule.

"Good grief, they're like Hobbits – they eat seven times a day!" he remarked.

Bilbo rolled his eyes. "It's only an established guess. I've no idea how much food a baby Dwarf can eat or how many times a day they do. But, regardless of race, I'm sure that a baby should be fed at least seven times a day."

He looked up from his plan at Gandalf with a scowl. "Lest you want a repeat of this morning's performance," he remarked dryly.

The Wizard did not reply; instead, the visible, involuntary shiver that he gave said it all.

The Hobbit sighed, rubbing his tired eyes as the thought of his Dwarvish companions-turned-babies' group fit, which had occurred only a half an hour earlier, entered his mind. It had taken all of his energy, and he had a hard time battling to contain his increasing frustrations and panic, what with the chaos surrounding him, but, after what seemed like forever, little baby Thorin had ( _finally!_ ) quieted down. He had succumbed to Bilbo's humming and back-rubbing at last, nestling in the warmth of his neck once more as he began to settle down.

 _Not as bad as my Took cousins – he's **worse**_ , Bilbo thought, swallowing his queasiness as the dark-haired baby wiped his runny nose on his neck.

To everyone's relief – _especially_ that of the Elves – the others had followed suit. They, too, began to quiet down, as if they sensed that their leader was calm and no longer threatened by the presence of the tall, pointy-earred beings. As soon as they were still, the baby Dwarves were placed in their cribs, which were pushed quite close together and placed near the windows, on Bilbo's orders. This, the Hobbit had explained, would allow the babes to sense each others' presence, to quietly process what was going on around them – from the movement of the curtains to the shapes of the swaying trees outside – and to essentially take rest.

The Elves cheered up after hearing the last part, but their happiness was short-lived when the Hobbit told them, "Of course, they still need some form of interaction whilst they're lying in their cribs, so I encourage you to chat to them as you go about your business. Let them know that you're there for them."

Although, as he watched the Elves leaning over the cribs in a menacing manner and talking lowly in Sindarin to their Dwarvish charges whilst they were bringing in more baby supplies, he doubted that whatever they were saying were words of kindness.

_Upon my soul, I won't be a bit surprised if my companions end up swearing at each other in Sindarin one day._

As soon as that hectic episode reached its conclusion, Bilbo retired to his quarters and immediately got to work on his baby Dwarf-care schedule. He knew Hobbit babies were difficult to manage, and he knew that from his own experience, but he virtually knew nothing about managing Dwarflings. From what Gandalf told him, looking after these Dwarves was not going to be an easy task – and he was only referring to the _baby_ stage!

_If this stage is as tiresome as Gandalf makes it out to be, imagine what it will be like when they become toddlers, and then tweens, and then …_

_Relax, Bilbo, relax. Don't think about the other stages yet. We'll get there when we get there._

_Focus on this stage first._

With that thought in mind, the Hobbit drew up the schedule and was pleased with what he prepared. After all, the plan was for the benefit of him, Gandalf and the Elf attendants assigned to them.

"We must follow this schedule strictly," he murmured to the Wizard. "We _have_ to, if we want to get through the first stage with our sanity intact."

"Well, we've certainly gotten off to a fine start," Gandalf replied sarcastically, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "It's only, what, _8 o'clock_ on the _bloody_ dot!"

"Mind your language, Gandalf," chastised Bilbo, frowning. "They may be babies, but I won't stand for any cussing when you're around them. Isn't that right, Thorin?"

He looked down, large ice-blue eyes looking up at him.

"Ah ah," little Thorin gurgled, reaching out to pull on some beard-hair, only to find there was none there.

Bilbo felt a small smile grace his lips.

"Glad you think so," he murmured, lightly tickling underneath the wee babe's chin, eliciting a cry of delight.

"Ah eee!" he squealed, bouncing on the Hobbit's knee excitedly. "Eee eh eh eee!"

Gandalf rolled his eyes.

"I'm surprised you didn't leave Thorin with an Elf attendant of his own," he grumbled. "Now that I think about it, you wrote on the schedule that twelve attendants are to be provided for. _Twelve?_ There's _thirteen_ of them, remember?"

A pause.

"And why must _I_ be the only one to assist with nappy-duty?" he added, glowering for all he was worth.

Bilbo smirked. "In answer to the last query, it's sort of obvious why nappy-duty has fallen on you, given that _you're_ the one who's responsible for _this_ mess" – he pointed at the dark-haired baby sitting in his lap – "happening in the first place."

The Wizard bit down _hard_ on his bottom lip to prevent himself from uttering another curse.

"As for the first query," the Hobbit continued, picking up a quill and scrawling a note on the schedule before pushing it towards the irate Wizard, "again, I think it's sort of obvious. As you saw earlier, baby Thorin is no different from his adult self, believe you me."

Gandalf peered down at the first of many notes to come that had been added onto the paper.

"How poetic," he commented in a wry voice as he read the following words:

– _Do not leave Thorin in the care of Elves._

"I don't want to take any chances," said Bilbo firmly. "If Thorin's not going to behave himself when he's being handled by Elves, then we'll have not one, but _thirteen_ unsatisfied babies on our hands. Besides," he added softly, allowing himself to smile once more at the dark-haired tyke, who began to suck on his chubby fingers, "I think he's getting attached to me. He refused to let go of my good shirt when I tried to put him in his crib."

"Only because you're the only one who's being nice to him, the nasty little brute," the Wizard replied harshly, though he shuddered again. "Still, I'll do _anything_ to prevent another group tantrum."

"Hence the nappy-duty," responded Bilbo tartly as he stood up. Gently cradling Thorin in his arms, he said to the Wizard, "Alright, Gandalf, grab that schedule and let's get going. We have enough time to feed them and bath them before play-time commences at 9 o'clock."

"Yes, I'm sure nothing will go wrong from now on," the taller being grumbled.

"Ah ha gug," cooed Thorin, his eyes taking on an unusual shine. "Ah _hee_ ha gug."

* * *

**08.00 AM – 09.00 AM**

Upon returning to the nursery, Bilbo was not at all surprised to hear the Dwarflings yowling away in their cots once again ("Good grief, the Battle of Azanulbizar couldn't compare to _this_!" proclaimed Gandalf). He saw the Elf attendants leaning over them to calm the babes down by crooning softly to them in their language, but, as he expected, their soothing words (if the Elves were even _trying_ to be soothing) did not help.

 _They're hungry. The only way to_ _keep their attention and to_ _quiet them down is to feed them. Hopefully we can bath them thereafter,_ _otherwise fussy-time_ **_will_ ** _become inevitable._

Holding Thorin against his chest, the Hobbit began to choose twelve Elves at random to assist him and Gandalf in the managing of the twelve Dwarf babies. The chosen attendants, who gathered before him to hear his instructions, included two young, dark-haired Elves who both looked identical – they were also the only ones who were smiling as Bilbo explained the schedule to them.

 _They may look like a couple of rascals, but at least_ they _actually look eager to help!_

The other tall, elegant beings, on the other hand, looked rather reluctant; one or two of them were biting down hard on their bottom lips, as if to prevent themselves from saying something that would surely make the Hobbit's ears burn.

Once Bilbo had finished explaining the schedule, he said, "Alright, let's get this show on the road. When you're finished feeding your, um, assigned baby, you may proceed to bathe him. Any questions you may have during the course of the day, you can direct at me. I'll be more than glad to help, although I'm positive that nothing will go wrong."

Gandalf and the attendants raised their eyebrows in apprehension.

Little Thorin merely stared at Bilbo's chest, wondering to himself if he was going to get fed or starve to death. At the pace these odd yet irritating beings were going, and judging from the flatness of his curly-haired handler's chest, the prospects of eating seemed pretty low.

* * *

– _Óin does not like to drink regular milk._

" _Daro!_ _An ngell nîn!_ Master Baggins, please come over here for a second, will you?"

Bilbo was finishing feeding an enthusiastic Thorin with baby formula ( _my, he's as hungry as a Hobbit who's missed a couple of meals!_ ) when the Elf called him. Carefully, he removed the bottle from the Dwarfling's mouth ( _I certainly don't want him to pull a Bombur on me_ ) before he made his way over to the attendant, who wore an anxious expression on his fair face as he stared down at the babe in his arms.

"What seems to be the trouble?" Bilbo asked him, his eyes wandering to the baby in question. It was little Óin, although his chin and part of his neck was covered with milk. White droplets dribbled downwards from his mouth, splattering on the floor.

The Elf looked at the Hobbit with a deep frown. "It's the baby, Master Baggins. He's not drinking his milk."

"Isn't he?"

"No, he isn't," the attendant insisted. "Every time I put the bottle to his mouth, he takes a mouthful and then spits it out. Here, I'll show you."

He offered the teat of the bottle to Óin, who took it into his mouth ravenously. However, after taking in a generous mouthful, his tiny clenched fists grabbed both sides of the bottle and, with all the strength he could muster, he wrenched the teat from out of his mouth in fury and – to Bilbo's disgust – spat out the milk. A wave of white liquid ran down his chin and neck, dripping down to the floor in abandon.

"Eh neeyeh," the frustrated bundle whined, sending another white gush running down his front.

"You see?" his handler cried. "He won't stop doing that! And yet, there's nothing wrong with the milk itself – it's fresh, it has been properly prepared, and –"

"Sorry to cut you off, but I do understand what you're saying," interrupted Bilbo, frowning a little. "In short, Óin is rejecting the milk formula."

"That is correct," the Elf answered, nodding. Flinching inwardly as Óin wiped his milk-covered hand on his tunic, he then asked, "What can I do, Master Baggins?"

"Hmm," hummed the Hobbit, canting his head to the side in thought and ignoring Thorin's demanding cries for more formula all the while ("You'll get gassy, and won't you end up even _more_ miserable!" he lectured the stubborn babe). He had encountered a similar problem about two years ago after his second-cousin, Rosamunda Took, was born. Her father, Sigismond, was at the end of his tether because the little girl refused to drink any milk.

"And if you think _I'm_ worried, my dear fellow, you haven't seen her mother!" Sigismond remarked, shuddering. "Goodness, Gladiola is so fed up about it, she's threatening to take Rosie off to the Elves for help!"

One morning, Sigismond arrived at Bag End carrying an emaciated-looking Rosamunda in his arms: according to him, he caught Gladiola – "desperate as anything", he had described her – about to leave with their daughter for Rivendell in the middle of the night. Luckily, he was able to convince her that Bilbo would be able to find a solution to the problem.

"You're the only one I'd trust my children with, Bilbo, so please help me and my Rosie!" Sigismond had begged. "Yavanna knows those blasted Elves wouldn't have the slightest idea as to how to look after a baby!"

Not knowing what else to do, Bilbo ran off to the market and returned with a packet filled with different types of baby formula. Then, he prepared each bottle, which he gave to Sigismond to feed to Rosamunda. For hours, they tried everything, from cow's milk to goat's milk until – after coaxing and many a rejection – Rosamunda began to suckle enthusiastically on a bottle containing –

"Soya milk," Bilbo whispered.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Sorry, I was thinking out loud," answered the Hobbit, looking up at the Elf. "Do you, by any chance, have soya milk in your pantries at all?"

"Soya milk? We have plenty of it, Master Baggins," the attendant replied. "We normally offer it to guests who are allergic to regular milk. We also find it to be a healthier alternative to regular milk."

"There you are, we've now found a solution to our current problem," Bilbo declared triumphantly. "Most babies take to soya milk than regular milk, although it's often used as a last resort, such as in this case. You must prepare a bottle of soya milk for Óin – same amount, same preparation time, _everything!_ – and feed it to him for as long as this stage lasts. Can you do that for me?"

The Elf attendant nodded. "I can do that, Master Baggins."

"Thanks very much. Here, give Óin to me. I'll give him a wipe-down. He has to eat first before he bathes, but he has to look a tad presentable for his feeding, I think."

The fussy Dwarf baby was handed over to the Hobbit as the attendant went to prepare the new soya-based feed. Bilbo walked over to, and laid Thorin and Óin down on, a changing table and, after laying him on his back, he wiped the deaf healer-turned-baby's milk-stained body with a cloth.

"Ah nuh," Thorin whined, pulling on Bilbo's sleeve.

"In a minute, Thorin," his handler murmured, smiling as Óin giggled when the cloth brushed against his skin. "We have to make your cousin look decent. Right, Óin, my widdle amber gem?"

"Ag gha," babbled Óin, sounding quite pleased. If he were his deaf, adult self, he would have asked the Hobbit to speak up, and then grumble about being called an "amber gem" – and a "widdle" one at that!

"Ah nuuuh," his dark-haired cousin whimpered, his blue eyes watering ever so slightly. "Nuuuh …"

Bilbo sensed that his charge was getting restless, mainly due to the fact that he was not getting enough attention from him: another tantrum was on the cards, by the looks of things ( _can those eyes get any wider?_ _And my poor shirt-sleeve, it'll stretch out from his constant pulling!_ ). Thankfully, the Hobbit was saved from this impending disaster when Óin's handler returned with a new bottle in hand ( _and wearing another tunic, I see_ ). He watched as the wee babe took the teat into his mouth and began to drink the soya milk preparation in large gulps. His handler, looking anxious earlier, now looked relieved as he fed the satisfied baby Dwarf.

"I was afraid he was going to starve to death, but it seems like I need not worry any more," the Elf cheerfully declared.

 _Ah, but won't Óin be displeased when he finds out that he drank soya milk._ _He_ hates _soy beans with a passion – almost as much as he hates other vegetables!_ _But, I suppose what he doesn't know w_ _on'_ _t hurt him._

"Ah nuh?" squeaked little Thorin, pulling on his sleeve once more.

Bilbo hoisted him up, saying, "And now that _you're_ fed, you silly goose, you're going straight into a bath. A nice, warm, bubbly bath, fit for a king! Like the idea, hmm?"

If he was an adult, Thorin would have glared at the Hobbit for all he was worth and walked away whilst cursing under his breath after hearing something babyish like that.

Here, the dark-haired Dwarfling stared at him blankly, saw a copper curl in the edge of his vision and pulled down hard, burbling with pride when Bilbo cursed the line of Durin to filth.

* * *

– _Do not separate Fíli and Kíli. It is imperative that they stay together._

"I've never seen twins before," the young, dark-haired Elf said softly in an amazed voice to the identical Elf next to him as he prodded Fíli's stomach, causing the golden-haired Dwarfling to squeal in delight. Kíli did the same, determined not to be left out of the fun.

"They're _not_ twins," said Bilbo, who happened to overhear the Elf as he made his way to the sink with Thorin on his shoulder. "They look nothing alike."

The Elves stared at him as if he were an idiot.

"Of _course_ they look nothing alike, little man," said the other Elf, tutting. "We're not blind, you know."

Bilbo felt his face flush.

"I'm sorry," he said hurriedly. "What I ought to have said was that they're not twin brothers at all, identical or otherwise. Fíli is the older one of the pair, and Kíli is the, uh, baby, so to speak."

The two Elves laughed merrily, much to the Hobbit's (and Thorin's) bemusement.

"Master Hobbit, you misunderstand us," the first tall being said, patting his head (Thorin followed the movement with his large eyes). "When I said that I had never seen twins before, I meant that I had never seen twin _spirits_."

"Spirits?" Bilbo was even more confused. "I don't think I quite follow you …"

"What my brother Elladan is trying to say, my good sir, is that these adorable little brothers share a very special connection," the second being answered, his grey eyes glittering. "So rare it is to see people who're so close these days, supporting and caring for each other, doing things together and very much like each other – a strong and incomparable bond, these two have. Hence, _twin_ _spirits_."

"Well put, dear Elrohir," Elladan chirped.

"You two can see that spirit-thing in _them_?" said Bilbo, amazed. "Even though they're _babies_?"

The Elf brothers glanced at each other.

"Weeell," answered Elladan with some hesitation, "it's actually a _theory_ of ours, you see. We're just about to test the theory out."

Bilbo stared at them, purely and completely confused.

"Uh … testing the theory out?" he repeated slowly. "Whatever do you mean by that?"

"In other words, my dear Hobbit," replied Elrohir, rolling up his sleeves, "we're about to see how close these two Dwarflings are when we're going to bath them."

" _Separately_ ," added Elladan, rolling up his own sleeves. A mischievous spark appeared in his grey eyes. "We want to see what will happen if we wash them in separate basins – Kíli, I think his name is, spilled his milk on himself and his brother during his feed. Elrohir thinks that they won't kick up a fuss –"

"– and Elladan thinks that they'll fall to pieces," finished his brother, his eyes all a-glitter once more. "I'm betting a whole week's desserts on this!"

"Care to join in on this little wager, Master Fuzzy-feet?" asked Elladan, scooping up little Kíli into his arms.

"Aaah na …?" the younger Durin babe cooed questioningly, his eyes on his golden-haired brother, who stared vacantly at the spot where the other baby had sat.

"Ah gi …?" Fíli uttered in bemusement, smacking the ground with his palm. The Hobbit felt a dreadful feeling in the pit of his stomach, for Fíli's eyes began to water as Elrohir lifted him up. "Ah giii …?"

The feeling doubled when Kíli whimpered in kind.

"Naaa … naaaa …" he cried, the tears welling up in his eyes as well.

"Are you two completely _mad_?" Bilbo said, flabbergasted. "You can't separate these two! Do you know what will happen if you do?"

"Judging by how worried you sound, then it will mean that _I_ will get to eat all of my brother's desserts for an _entire_ week," answered Elladan, smirking in delight.

"You're _not_ serious," groaned Bilbo, his heart racing now as Fíli and Kíli's faces began to redden. "You'll bring chaos on us all if you do this. They may not be twins, but they're like two peas in a pod, and separating them will just cause unnecessary drama. Do you honestly want that to happen?"

The young Elves grinned at him.

"Oh ye of little faith," they said together.

" _Urp_ ," burped Fíli, bucking forward in Elrohir's arms. His face, Bilbo noticed, began to turn a ghastly shade of green.

_Oh no, is he going to …?_

"We'll take good care of them," said Elladan.

"And the bathing will take only a few minutes, enough to see who will win the bet," added Elrohir, lightly bouncing the golden-haired babe. "Don't you fret, little Halfling. I'll share my winnings with you when I –"

" _B_ _LAAa_ _argh!_ "

Dear readers, the scene that followed is so gruesome to describe, even Bilbo had to look away when a green-faced Fíli suddenly – and almost-violently – got sick on his handler.

And it did not help matters when Kíli, whether it was from feeling nauseous himself or from wanting to mimic his brother's actions, threw up as well.

" _BlaaAARGH!_ "

When Bilbo turned back, he had to swallow the urge to heave himself.

The Elf brothers were … well, let's just say that their fair looks could not detract one from the gunk splattered across their chests and on the ends of their braids, and that dripped onto their shoes. If the Hobbit dared to look closer, he swore he could see droplets dabbled on their petrified, porcelain faces.

Fíli and Kíli, with dribbling mouths, happily squealed without a care in the world.

"Ah gah," Thorin cooed, giggling loudly.

"Uh, I suppose no one wins the desserts for a week," Bilbo said quietly, unable to hide his smile.

Elladan and Elrohir did not deign to reply.

Instead, they shoved the baby Dwarves into the arms of the Elf who had come up behind them and ran out of the nursery, hands over their mouths and gunk flying out behind them.

"Dear me, Thorin, looks like your nephews _are_ twin spirits after all," the Hobbit murmured.

"Indeed, and my sons are the most mischievous little devils in comparison to these Dwarves."

Startled at the familiar voice, Bilbo looked up to see Lord Elrond standing before him, holding a gurgling Fíli and Kíli in each arm. An unimpressed expression had graced his exquisite features.

"Your _sons_?" stammered the Hobbit, his eyes widening. "Those two Elves were your _sons_?"

" _Are_ my sons, unfortunately," corrected Elrond, shaking his head. "They can be real trouble-makers when they want to be. Even their younger brother is never exempt from their teasing. I apologise on their behalf for their appalling behaviour, Master Baggins. I know you're under a lot of stress at the moment."

Little Thorin stared hard at the taller being and at the contented bundles he hitched onto his shoulders, as if he were making sure that they were no longer in danger.

"That's quite alright, Lord Elrond," replied Bilbo, not knowing what else to say (though he did privately think in agreement that Fíli and Kíli as adults could not compare to those young Elves when it came to rascality). His voice suddenly rose in volume. "Oh no, they're dribbling onto your tunic!"

Elrond did not bat an eyelid, not even as saliva dripped from Fíli and Kíli's mouths onto his clothes.

"That's quite alright," the Elf said. "They can't help it. I'm more worried about withholding them from their bath. Let's get them into the basins right away so that I can bath them."

Bilbo gaped at him.

" _You're_ going to _bath_ the _both_ of them?" he spluttered. _Goodness, how many times is he going to keep on surprising me?_

Elrond raised his eyebrows, looking slightly amused.

"Why not? It's got to be done. Besides, I may well be over a few hundred years old, but I still know a thing or two about looking after infants.

"Only," he added in a conspiratorial whisper as the pair made their way to the basins with their charges, "I draw the line at changing nappies. That, Master Baggins, I'm leaving up to Gandalf."

The Hobbit chuckled.

Thorin, Fíli and Kíli giggled, too.

* * *

**09.00 AM – 11.00 AM**

– _Bifur likes to interact with people. Speak to him as much as possible._

"Breaks your heart, doesn't it?"

"I know. These damned Elves won't leave me be, always calling for me to change the Dwarves' nappies!"

"Firstly, your _language_ ," said Bilbo with a stern look at the Wizard. "Secondly, lower your voice, there's no need to shout. Thirdly, you know very well that I wasn't talking about _you_."

He gestured towards the axe-embedded Dwarf on the changing-table, his head supported by one Elf as another attendant applied a salve around the wounded area, careful not to touch the axe-blade. Little Bifur flinched from the Elf's touch, letting out a most tearful mewl and trying to move away, to no avail; the Elf's hold on him was tight, and the axe-blade's weight would have hindered the movement greatly. He could not get anywhere if he tried.

Gandalf sighed at the sight.

"Yes, it does," he agreed. "It makes me wonder how on earth we're going to get Bifur involved during play-time."

"Yes, I was wondering the same thing, Master Baggins," Bifur's handler cut in, closing off the bottle of salve. "The others seem easy enough to handle, but because of, uh, Bifur's _impairment_ , I don't see how we can give him stimulation."

He glanced at the other Elf attendants with their respective Dwarf babies. Some of them had procured rattles that were somewhat faded, soft yet worn toy animals and rubber toys losing their squeaks for the little babes, who were fascinated by the rattles' noises, the coarse softness of the toys' furs and the dull _squeak-squeak!_ -s of the rubber toys that they gripped in their tiny hands.

Bilbo waved a dismissive hand (which was quite an achievement, given that he had to fend off Thorin's attempts to pull on his hair again). "The fact that Bifur has an axe in his head should not deter us in the slightest. So long as we socialise with him and play games with him that can stimulate his development, then we'll be just fine."

He turned to Gandalf, proffering up Thorin. "Here, take him for a second, will you? Nice and slowly now … it's alright, Thorin, I'll take you back in a second … shh, its alright …"

A rather reluctant-looking Thorin found himself back in the arms of the grey being. Despite the soothing assurances of his Hobbit handler, he felt the overwhelming need to burst into tears. But, when the beard-hair of his holder came into his sight, the dark-haired Dwarfling forgot about his grievances and immediately reached out to tug on the locks, cooing with gladness when the tall being yelped.

Meanwhile, Bilbo approached the changing-table, saying, "Let me take Bifur and I'll show you what you can do during play-time. Please fetch us a mat to put on the floor."

As the Elf went off, the Hobbit leaned down, scooping up the black-haired baby Dwarf into his arms and gently propping up the back of his head.

"Mmm," Bifur hummed, looking up at the curly-haired being with his big dark eyes.

"Hello, Biffy-boo," said Bilbo, smiling in spite of himself as he lightly tickled the infant's nose. "Aren't you a good boy, hmm? A good, quiet widdle baby, aren't you?"

The Hobbit half-expected Bifur to suddenly reply to him in Khuzdûl or sign to him in Iglishmêk to comment on his use of baby-talk, or at least give him a blank stare. As an adult, the axe-embedded Dwarf appeared to be rather intimidating, what with his frequent periods of zoning out and his occasional flare-ups ( _especially_ when it concerned his behatted cousin or a certain star-shaped-haired thief), but, in reality, he was a decent sort and – if one spent more time with him – a great conversationalist. He could hold his own in a conversation or a friendly debate or even dish out sarcasm without saying anything at all, which had initially surprised Bilbo considering the fact that Bifur was … not exactly a typical Dwarf.

 _And he's hardly a typical_ baby _Dwarf, either. It feels strange to address him, and the others, using child-directed speech, but one does anything to help stimulate development, especially if one of them has an axe-blade in his head!_

Here, baby Bifur closed his fingers around Bilbo's fingers once more, pulling on it and burbling softly to himself, as if to say (or sign, as he preferred to do), " _Yes, I am._ _Don't worry about me, I'm one of the good ones,_ _if not the_ _ **only**_ _good one_ _._ "

The Elf returned with the mat, placing it on the floor as Bilbo requested. With all eyes on him, the Hobbit sat down cross-legged on the mat, saying to the attendant as he got comfortable, "Bifur likes to be spoken to, and interaction _is_ key for a baby's development. I discovered some fun socialising games to use when my second-cousin Adelard Took came along. It took a while for him to grasp toys properly, but he liked games that sharpened his visual and memory skills, and his body strength and coordination."

 _That was before he took a shine to my father's golf umbrella. The colours on that thing was so loud, I'm surprised Adelard didn't go blind!_ _I have half a mind to give it to him now that he's older because I_ certainly _have no use for it._

"Watch closely now," he said to his audience.

Ever so carefully, Bilbo laid the black-haired babe down on the mat so that he was lying on his stomach. Bifur raised his heavy head up for a second before it went down again, though his eyes still lingered on the Hobbit-shaped form in front of him.

"Uh ma," he cooed, stretching out his arms towards the cross-legged creature. "Uh ma."

"Uh ma," Bilbo suddenly said, looking directly at the infant's face as he repeated his sounds. " _Uuuhh m_ _aaaah_."

Bifur raised his head again, his eyes widening in curiosity.

"Uh maaah," he copied the Hobbit, dragging out the sounds.

"Baaah," Bilbo replied in turn. " _Baaaaah_."

"Baaah hah," Bifur gurgled happily, getting the hang of this game. "Baaah hah!"

"Oooh boooo."

" _Oo_ _ooh_ booo hah!"

This game continued for a minute or so, with Bilbo repeating Bifur's sounds and creating his own, sometimes stretching the words and sounds out, and varying in different pitches and paces. The attention of the Dwarf baby was all on him ( _which is exactly what I wanted_ ); he mimicked the taller being's sounds and words with gusto, all the while stretching his body towards him. He issued pleased sounds when Bilbo praised his efforts with a tickle on his nose.

"That's my widdle Biffy-Boo," he gushed, taking the little one into his arms to give him a cuddle. "Yes, you're my Booo, aren't you? My Booo!"

"Oh gawd, Bilbo, your baby-talk will give me nightmares," groaned Gandalf.

"Serves you right," replied Bilbo flippantly, getting to his feet with Bifur in his arms. "And I jolly well hope that it will keep you awake at night!"

He turned his attention to the attendant. "As you can see, this is the kind of thing you'll have to do with Bifur during play-time. Encourage him to mimic your words and sounds, and don't be shy to repeat whatever comes out of his mouth. It'll definitely help him to understand and form words of his own when you respond to him, as well as stimulate his memory skills.

"Also, his stretching towards you will strengthen the muscles in his arms, neck and legs," he continued. "Laying him on his stomach will allow him to move his body; although the axe-blade is quite heavy, at least he can raise his head somewhat, and his focusing on you will develop his visual skills. Oh, and _please_ don't forget to praise him – cuddle him, for example, only do watch out for his axe-blade. It can be a _bit_ sharp."

The Elf nodded at his instructions, though he stole an apprehensive glance at the axe-embedded Dwarf baby's wound and gulped at the mere thought of having that nasty weapon making contact with him.

Gently, Bilbo passed the Dwarf babe to his handler before he turned back to Gandalf, who looked like an agitated Warg as baby Thorin pulled at his beard-hair in wild abandon.

"I suppose you want me to take him back," Bilbo sighed. "Which is a shame, because he looks like he's having the time of his life, pulling on your beard so that _I_ don't have to."

Gandalf gave him a heated glare.

"What, cat got your tongue, Gandalf? Or is Thorin's pulling producing the same effect?"

"One more witless word out of you, Bilbo Baggins," thundered the Wizard in a dark tone, "and I'll make sure that Bifur will say a certain four-letter word whenever _you're_ around."

"And _I'll_ make sure that he'll call you when he needs you to change his nappy," came the icy retort.

* * *

– _Bombur is to be massaged and/or burped between feedings._

To Bilbo, baby Bombur reminded him strongly of another Took cousin, Esmeralda. The little girl was going on five-years-old in September, sporting copper curls that framed her chubby, cherub face, which were home to twinkling green-blue eyes. She had a pleasant demeanour and a healthy appetite as a babe, but she was particularly gassy, whether it was belching or breaking wind. Her father, Adalgrim, was a frightful tease about the subject, much to her displeasure.

"With all that tooting going on," he had once said to Bilbo at a family gathering in the Great Smials, "we should have renamed Essie "Tootie"!"

Unfortunately, Esmeralda overheard the comment and complained to her mother. Méraude had dragged a pleading Adalgrim by his ear to another room, where she gave him quite a tongue-lashing ( _she nearly brought the_ _mansion down upon us all,_ _she was so loud_ _!_ ). When they returned, a red-faced Adalgrim – with Méraude looking on in the background – apologised to their daughter in front of everyone. Bilbo had a good laugh about that afterwards.

 _Of course, I understood what Adalgrim meant: whenever_ I _babysat Esmeralda, I had to deal with her gassiness. That girl could give Lobelia Sackville-Baggins a run for her money! Even Ori's burps weren't as loud as that!_

 _Luckily, I had –_ have – _a way to help with that …_

"Are you sure massaging him will work this time around, Master Baggins?" the Elf queried, staring at the orange-haired baby lying on his back with his body curled up and his legs drawn up in the air once more. The Dwarfling's face held an uncomfortable expression.

"Waaah," he cried in pain.

"You needn't worry, I've done it many times in my babysitting days," the Hobbit answered, instinctively rubbing a drowsy Thorin's back; the dark-haired Dwarfling was close to falling asleep on his shoulder again.

The Hobbit gestured towards little Bombur. "You see how he's curled up like that and his legs are in the air? He's gassy, so he's trying to ease his discomfort by compressing the area where it hurts, that being his belly. That is why you must massage this area, like so …"

Bilbo lifted up Bombur's shirt to expose his tubby belly, minding out the way of his kicking legs.

"Easy, Bubba," Bilbo intoned softly. "Bubba's going to be fine. Bubba _will_ be fine."

Lightly, he rested his hand on the belly, slowly moving his fingertips in circular motions around the paining area.

"Aaaah … oohh …" gurgled Bombur, his body beginning to uncurl.

"Good Bubba," crooned the curly-haired creature. "Bubba is a good baby."

"Aah ba … aaah."

And then, a few seconds later –

_Toot!_

The Elf's nose wrinkled.

"Did he …?" he asked, leaving the sentence unfinished as he already knew the answer.

_Toot!_

"Oh, he did," answered Bilbo nonchalantly.

_Toot! Toot!_

"Ah gheeyeh!" Bombur chirped happily, no longer looking discomfited. Indeed, he kicked his legs upwards and slapped the changing-table's surface in pure delight. "Aah gheyeh gheh!"

_Tooooot!_

"And _I_ have to do this after every time I feed him?" asked the obviously-flabbergasted and reluctant attendant, half-covering his nose with his sleeved arm.

Bilbo nodded fervently, saying through a pinched nose, "For a while, yes. To prevent gas from building up, I recommend burping him immediately after a feed. Place him over your shoulder and pat his back, or massage it, whatever suits you –"

_TOOT!_

"– but overall, I think you'll have nothing to worry about, except maybe the smell - _phew!_ Oh, and have him ready for his nap-time in half an hour, thanks."

The smaller creature walked away, leaving behind a not-too happy Elf, a tooting Dwarfling and a funny odour in the air.

* * *

**11.00 AM**

Nap-time couldn't have come any sooner.

Twelve Elf attendants (two of whom were newly-assigned to Fíli and Kíli) placed twelve Dwarflings in their cribs at precisely 11 o'clock. Bilbo had no idea how long a Dwarf baby usually napped, but – given his experience and because he had travelled with these Dwarves for quite a long while – he estimated that two one-hour naps in a day would suffice.

_Besides that, sticking to the schedule is imperative. The Dwarves must consistently nap, and learn to associate their cribs with bed-time. They also need to use this time to accept their handlers, uh, handling them._

_And I'm sure the Elves are learning a great deal about this process, among the other things that I taught them this morning._

Under his instructions, the Elves became quiet and placed their charges on their backs in their cleared-up cots. Their keen eyes watched out for tell-tale signs that indicated the babes' tiredness, from Nori rubbing his eyes to Dwalin half-yawning, half-growling.

Bilbo, however, did not stay around to wait until his companions had dropped off.

_Thorin needs his rest, too; he's practically a dead-weight on my shoulder!_

Gandalf had also departed from the nursery, albeit in such a quiet manner that Bilbo did not realise his absence until he turned to leave; an Elf attendant told the Hobbit that the Wizard, with a most dazed look on his face, had mumbled something about going to have a long bubble-bath "to cleanse myself of Dwarvish contact" before dizzily wandering away.

_I suppose nappy-duty proved too much for him._

When the Hobbit arrived at his quarters with the baby Dwarf king snoozing on him like a pillow, he was relieved to see the wee babe's crib in the corner near the bed; he had instructed a few Elf attendants to move the wooden structure to his room.

_Because Yavanna knows … Thorin might not want to be separated from me again. I'd rather have him sleep near me so that he knows where I am._

_It feels quite queer, given that Thorin and I … we were hardly the best of friends before Gandalf fluffed up everything, yet now he's hanging onto me like a parasite – no, "parasite" is too harsh a word to use. Perhaps like a –_

_Bilbo_ , the sensible Baggins-ish voice in his head chimed suddenly, _concentrate on putting Thorin in his crib, and then get yourself to bed. You can do with a little rest yourself before going on with the schedule._

_Yes, I need rest. Honestly, this morning has been tiresome … this business that Gandalf has foolishly brought upon us all certainly drains one's energy, namely **mine**._

Sighing softly to himself, more than aware of his ever-growing fatigue, Bilbo padded over to the crib and began to detach baby Thorin from his shoulder.

"Ah gah," the Dwarfling suddenly gurgled, his eyes fluttering open.

"Didn't mean to wake you, Thorin," Bilbo whispered, trying to lift the tyke off. "But now you must finish your nap in your crib."

"Ah gaaah," Thorin gurgled again, his pudgy fingers suddenly gripping the Hobbit's shirt's material tightly. He burrowed his face into the Hobbit's neck. "Ah _gaaaah …_ "

"Don't you "ah gah" me, young Thorin," Bilbo grumbled, trying his hardest to prise off those claw-like fingers, but it only made the Dwarfling burrow deeper and "Ah gah" even more loudly.

"Ah gaaah!" The sound was now muffled, and Bilbo could practically _feel_ the stubborn baby's scowl pressed against him.

 _Miserable. Completely and utterly miserable like a stingy old man who refuses to part with a single coin – I bet_ Thorin _was born like that!_

_What am I going to do? I need a break, and his Majesty needs his rest, lest fussy-time ruins everything._

_Unless …_

Bilbo sighed again. He never tried _this_ particular solution before with his Took cousins, but in this case …

It was _dire_.

"Come on, Thorin, let's you and I have a nap – _together_ ," he chirruped, turning away from the crib and walking towards the bed.

"Ah gah?" burbled Thorin, looking up at Bilbo in curiosity, almost staring at him in a bewildered fashion.

"Yes, you're napping with _me_ ," the Hobbit said, also feeling bewildered as his own words sunk in. "How does that sound to you, hmm?"

"Ah gah," came the reply.

 _Ah gah, indeed_ , Bilbo thought to himself with dread.

It was somewhat hard to climb into the bed; little Thorin held onto him tightly, but Bilbo still kept supporting him with his left arm. The comforter was a light one, yet it was soft and warm ( _which is just as well, because I don't have the time nor the energy to get another one just for Thorin to nap under for only a bloody hour_ ).

Settling himself atop the blanket by lying on his side, Bilbo tried to pull Thorin off him, gently yet firmly prising off the little fingers from his shirt.

"Nuuuhh …" the dark-haired babe whined, beginning to sniff.

"Shhh, Thorin, I'm not going anywhere," the Hobbit crooned soothingly, placing the sniffling Dwarf baby beside him, so that his head was resting on the sumptuous pillow, and covering his body with the comforter. "I'm right here, widdle one. I'm right here …"

Then, Bilbo reached out with his arm and ( _oh gawd, I'm_ really _doing this_ ) pulled Thorin towards his chest. "I'm right here …" he whispered, rubbing his back in small circles and humming.

"Ahmm mah," Thorin cooed, aware of the other creature's warmth.

Almost instantly, his tiny body curled inwardly, and his hands reached for the Hobbit's chest. His forehead very nearly bumped into Bilbo's nose, but soon it rested against his chin as the tyke burrowed his head into his neck once more. The combination of the Hobbit's warmth, his lulling voice, his even breathing and the sound of his heartbeat beneath his tiny fingertips was having a calming effect on him.

"Mmm," the Dwarfling hummed, closing his eyes as sleep began to take a hold of him.

And, surprisingly, Bilbo felt calm, too.

"There, there, Thorin, I'm here for you," he whispered to the dozy bundle in his arms, closing his own eyes. "Bilbo's here for you … I'm here …"

Several seconds later, quiet snores filled the room.

~~~

Half an hour later, when Lord Elrond came into the room with a cup of tea in hand for his guest, he was surprised yet captivated by the sight of a knocked-out-looking Hobbit with the exiled-Dwarf-king-turned-babe hanging onto him tightly as if he were his mother or his father.

_Shame, I don't have the heart to wake Master Baggins up; he's too exhausted. He's doing a splendid job at this, more so than my own kin._

_But the Valar knows, Thorin will never let this down when he returns to normal. I suppose if they ever take back the Lonely Mountain, it would be a useful bargaining chip during negotiations. What I would give to see Thorin's face whenever I mention_ this _scene to him …!_

Little did Elrond know, there were many more scenes involving the wee babe to come …

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daro! An ngell nîn! - No! Stop it!
> 
> Rosamunda Took - second-cousin of Bilbo Baggins, daughter of Sigismond Took and his wife, and later wife of Odovacar Bolger and mother of Fredegar and Estella Bolger.
> 
> Adelard Took - second-cousin of Bilbo Baggins and son of Flambard Took and his wife. Attended Bilbo's 111th birthday with his family; the next morning, he received a parting-gift from his second-cousin: an umbrella. Said to have taken a few unlabeled parcels along with the umbrella.
> 
> Esmeralda Took - second-cousin of Bilbo Baggins, daughter of Adalgrim and Méraude Took ("Méraude" = borrowed from "emerald"), later wife of Saradoc Brandybuck and mother of Meriadoc "Merry" Brandybuck.
> 
> Yay, an update! :D However, I'll be splitting this chapter into two parts, because one can only put up with so much of Dwarf baby nonsense. Also taking a bit of creative license with Hobbit genealogy and some other things *cough, baby-care*, but I hope you enjoyed part 1 of this chapter nonetheless, along with a thoroughly miffed Gandalf, baby-expert-extraordinaire-Bilbo, baby Thorin and Co., and the Elves, of course (especially the cameos from Elladan and Elrohir!).
> 
> Let me know your thoughts; it's been absolutely great to receive such amazing feedback even whilst I was offline! :D
> 
> *~AI07~* :)


	4. A Single Hobbit's Guide To Babycare: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More baby Dwarf shenanigans means clueless Elves making more mistakes. Bilbo Baggins is an absolute godsend (depending on which Elf you ask).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, an update! :D
> 
> After updating "The Resolutions Project" last week (check out Chapter 7, if you haven't already), I got straight back into this fic. Maybe "About Last Night" will follow?
> 
> Hope you enjoy more of Baby Thorin and Co. - they've missed you as much you've missed them (they hope).

**12.00 PM – 13.00 PM**

"Master Baggins? Wake up, please, Master Baggins."

"Hmm …?"

Slowly, Bilbo opened his eyes, blinking them more than once to clear his vision. For a moment, he had quite forgotten where he was. It was only when he tried to move his upper body, only to find that the movement was restricted because of the weight pressed against his chest, that the Hobbit remembered.

_Oh yes, I was having a wonderful nap in the heart of Rivendell … and there's also a baby Dwarf king hanging onto me as if I were a cuddly toy._

Indeed, when Bilbo peered downwards, the top of little Thorin's dark-haired head came into view. Soft, fluttery breaths could be felt against his neck, in which the babe had buried his face ( _well, of course, where else would he put it?_ ), and tiny fingers tightly gripped the front of his shirt.

 _My happy hat, if Thorin finds out about_ this _when the spell wears off, he'll never talk to me again. Well, not that we ever interacted that much before in the first place._

_Still, what an interesting topic for discussion this situation would be. I imagine it would go something like this: "Yes, Thorin, you were rather clingy as a baby. The amount of crocodile tears you'd cry every time I had to let you go – "tried to let you go" would be a better phrase, because you hung on me for dear life! It just goes to show, doesn't it? You were, and continue to be, a bundle of moodiness" –_

"Master Baggins?"

Gingerly, Bilbo rolled onto his back, keeping a secure grip on the slumbering Dwarfling, and slowly began to sit up; the dark-haired bundle in his arms shifted in his sleep, but did not stir. Yawning, Bilbo turned his head to the left, where a fair Elf with long brown hair stood beside the bed, looking down at him with a stony expression. It was Lindir, Lord Elrond's assistant. Privately, the Hobbit did not think much of him – he seemed to be a miserable, pedantic character who obviously frowned upon him and his Dwarvish companions ever since they set foot in Rivendell. He was full of airs and graces, and he wore a most ugly scowl that he always reserved for them.

_In all honesty, he's practically the male, Elvish version of Lobelia Sackville-Baggins._

"Good afternoon, Mister Lindir," Bilbo greeted politely and softly, hoping the Elf would catch his drift ( _Thorin will have to wake up soon, but I have no time for wake-up tantrums that may be caused by a noisy Elf_ ). "Goodness, is it 12 o'clock already? Nap-time went quickly, I do declare."

Lindir merely nodded before getting to the point (in a soft tone), "Master Baggins, you're needed in the nursery. There's a slight problem with one of _your_ comrades."

Bilbo raised an eyebrow.

"Oh? Which one?"

Lindir's brows furrowed in thought. "The one that you call … what is it again? Nolton? Norwick –?"

"Ah, you mean _Nori_ ," corrected the Hobbit ( _hardly a forgettable name, my dear Lindir_ ). "Well then, what seems to be the trouble with Nori?"

"Actually, Master Baggins," the Elf muttered, a familiar scowl gracing his features as he watched the lump clinging onto Bilbo's chest beginning to stir strongly, "it's more the case of, er, Nori – yes, _Nori_ – making trouble for his attendant."

"Hmm … yes," Bilbo murmured, looking down at the wee babe, who had turned his sleepy face up at him. "I suppose that sounds like something Nori would do …"

"Ah yeeh," little Thorin gurgled, fluttering his ice-blue eyes in what could best be described as an unimpressed manner.

* * *

– _Nori likes shiny objects. Do not let him anywhere near them._

Bilbo recalled a time when Nori had first stolen his coin purse. The incident occurred a week after the quest had begun: the Hobbit nearly ran himself ragged that night as he searched the entire camp-site looking for the blasted purse, unaware that a certain star-shaped-haired Dwarf watched him with twinkling, fox-like eyes and with his hand in his pocket, where the Hobbit's coin purse lay.

After an hour or so, Nori got up, threw the purse to a stunned-looking Bilbo and said casually, "Remember this, Master Baggins: you may fancy yerself as a burglar, but I'm a master thief. So you better keep a close eye on yer belongings, otherwise it'll be too late for you."

Of course, Bilbo did not realise that Nori was joking – yes, the thief continued to pilfer his coin purse among other things from him, but he always returned them, claiming that these mini-robberies were nothing more than exercises for the Dwarf to keep his mind and skills sharpened. Still, it was the first time that the Hobbit had experience with thievery of any kind, and for the first few weeks or so he lived in utter fright of Nori, whom he did not know very well just yet. The Dwarf certainly did not help matters when, after stealing Bilbo's coin purse for the umpteenth time, remarked (read: criticised harshly for all to hear): "Blimey, Master Baggins, is this all the shiny rubbish you've got? Unbe- _bloody_ -lievable! Some toff you turned out t'be!"

Such a comment did nothing to soothe Bilbo's nerves, and the poor Hobbit had to endure a barrage of jokes from his Dwarvish companions for many days, ranging from his lack of worthwhile possessions in his keep to his very own burglary skills, the latter which, in some of the Dwarves' opinions, were non-existent – and Bilbo knew they were right.

_Well, I may not be a good burglar, but I think I'm a rather outstanding babysitter, if I do say so myself._

_Then again, anyone could be considered a great babysitter in comparison to these Elves. I mean has it been so long since they have dealt with children? Shame, at least they're trying their best._

Bilbo, along with his Dwarvish charge, returned to the nursery for the third time that day ( _I'm surprised I haven't lost count!_ ) and saw that the Elf attendants were already feeding their respective Dwarflings without any trouble; indeed, the wee babes were happily suckling on the teats of their bottles without a fuss.

Well, except Nori, who was too busy causing trouble for his attendant, as Lindir had so eloquently put it.

" _Leithio nin!_ " the Elf cried, her voice high-pitched as Nori's tiny hands pulled at her long, raven braids. "Ah, Master Baggins, thank goodness you are here!"

"Oh dear, what's he been up to?" asked Bilbo. To the Dwarf babe in the tall being's arms, he said, "Come on, Nori, let go of the nice lady's hair. Come on, Scamp, come on – yay, there we go! Good boy!"

Finally, the attendant's hair had been detached from the "good boy's" grip. The auburn-haired Dwarfling held nothing in his hands, save for a few ink-black strands. Those hands instantly curled into fists as a most upset expression began to dominate his rosy face.

"Eeee neyeh ah," he mewled tearfully. "Neyeh neh _ah_!"

_Well, if there ever was a likely contender for who sheds the most crocodile tears, then Thorin has himself a rival in Nori._

Biting her bottom lip due to the pain throbbing in her scalp, the Elf looked at the Hobbit, saying, "He's been grabbing my hair at every opportunity he gets. He has been most persistent, and I'm afraid he will leave me bald-headed at the end of the day if I give him the chance!"

"But no less enchanting," replied Bilbo, hoping his words could cheer her up.

But Nori's handler hardly looked cheered up.

"I would rather have Mithrandir take my place if there is going to be any hair-pulling," she declared.

"Pulling at hair for the sheer fun of it is more up Thorin's avenue, I'm afraid," the Hobbit said, " _especially_ if it involves the hair of our Wizard companion."

His eyes fell on the beads threaded into her braids. "I'd say Nori's more fixated with those hair ornaments of yours. He probably couldn't care less about your hair … er, not that there's anything wrong with your hair, I assure you."

Indeed, if the glint in his eyes were anything to go by, it was apparent that little Nori was up to his usual mischief. He paused in his mewling to glance at his handler's beads: his mewling grew louder and the glint grew bigger.

_Sweet Yavanna, he's already a pilferer through and through! We've got to remedy that as he gets older._

_Who knows? Maybe Nori will be a completely reformed Dwarf …_

But then, the Hobbit had thought the same about Pansy, Peony and Petunia Took.

Apart from Esmeralda, Adalgrim and Méraude Took had three older daughters and a son (their son will be discussed soon enough). The daughters – Pansy, Peony and Petunia – were somewhat respectable young girls, but they had a love for all things shiny, sparkly and glittery. This fixation with glistening objects stemmed from when they were babies. They used to grab at buttons, coins and practically anything that flashed gold or silver ( _oh, how they gave me a terrible fright when they tried to put my mother's ruby brooch in their mouths!_ ).

When they grew into toddlers, they would play dress-up, prancing about in their mother's best earrings and bead necklaces ( _Méraude wasn't pleased about that, and even_ less _so when Adalgrim told the girls that they should take the jewellery off lest they looked like their mother_ ).

To this day, Pansy, Peony and Petunia – aged 14, 12 and 10, respectively – still liked to try their luck and wear Méraude's jewellery when she was not looking. When Bilbo minded the girls earlier in March after their brother and younger sister had taken ill, he was appalled to find them preening in front of a mirror one afternoon, wearing his mother's best jewels, including her brooch. Needless to say, Pansy, Peony and Petunia went without dinner _and_ supper that day.

 _The tricks they could learn from Nori … or rather, the tricks Nori could learn from_ _**them**_ _!_

"My hair-beads?" the attendant said, bemused. "Of what interest would my hair-beads be to a baby?"

"Babies like shiny objects," answered Bilbo. "Like moths drawn to light, babies are drawn to bright things; jewellery tends to reflect light, which captures the baby's attention. It usually happens when the eyes start working together, around about the same time the baby starts reaching out and grabbing things."

He looked at twinkly-eyed Nori. "For babies like Nori, it's all very fascinating. The trouble starts when they try to put jewellery in their mouths. They'll choke on those for sure, and goodness knows the amount of damage that will cause."

The tall being shuddered at the thought. "Is there any way I can distract Nori with something else?"

Again, Bilbo peered at the Elf maid's beads. They were a vivid red colour, almost like rubies …

_Red, like my mother's ruby brooch …_

… and it was with this thought, along with a pull on his copper curls from a very hungry Thorin, that the Hobbit came up with the answer.

"Have you got a red ball?" he asked the handler.

"We have a few old balls stored away in the same place from which we retrieved the toys," she replied. "They're hard but small. Must I go and fetch one?"

"Yes, please, and make sure that it's _red_ ," the smaller creature stressed. "Red is one of the first colours that babies learn to recognise. If Nori tries to grab at anything shiny, put him on the floor – on his stomach, same as Bifur – and place the ball in front of him. It will give him the opportunity to learn how to push, reach out and grab with his hands. It's safe enough for him to put in his mouth, though I'd still watch him – you never know with Nori where he hides his things, the little scamp."

Another pull from baby Thorin meant that fussy-time was going to occur, so Bilbo excused himself and went to feed his charge, leaving the Elf to do as she was instructed. In the middle of the feeding, he watched as the attendant returned with a dusty red ball. Giving it a quick wipe, she put Nori stomach-first on the floor and placed the ball in front of him. Almost immediately, the Dwarfling reached out with his arms, grabbed the ball in his hands and brought it to his mouth, contentedly dribbling on the object with a twinkle in his eyes.

Bilbo smiled at him. Actually, it was more of a smug grin than anything.

 _When I tell the others how you played with a ball like a cat fiddling about with a ball of yarn,_ you'll _be the one who'll be laughed at now!_

* * *

  **13.00 PM – 15.00 PM**

– _Mind out the way of Dwalin's legs when he starts kicking. Give him something to kick at._

"He kicks rather hard for a baby," the Elf muttered, glaring at the tattooed baby lying in its crib. "I'm almost amazed that his leg managed to catch me in the chin."

"And _I'm_ amazed that he didn't use his fists," murmured Bilbo.

He blushed when the glare focused on him. "I mean, Dwalin always favoured his hands when it came to … physical confrontations … and that sort of thing … you know?"

"No, I would not, Master Baggins, as _I'm_ not inclined towards violence of that nature," was the icy retort.

In Bilbo's opinion, the Elf looked ready to throw little Dwalin out the window the moment the baby began kicking his legs after his feeding came to an end. He had been burped, but the kicking continued. It got to the point that his handler dumped the babe into his crib when play-time had commenced for the other Dwarves. Now, Dwalin was staring up at his mobile, his legs jerking forward every minute or so.

_If his kicks are as hard as his handler says they are, then Dori is lucky to not have been on the receiving end of them if he and Dwalin came to blows last night._

Baby Thorin peeked out from the crook of his Hobbit handler's neck to observe his cousin's movements.

"Ah gah?" he gurgled, seemingly fascinated. "Ah geyah gah?"

"I'm warning you, Thorin, if _you_ start kicking me, it's back to Gandalf you go," Bilbo whispered sharply.

He glanced at the Wizard in question, who was busy with Ori at a changing-table. The horrified look on his face as he unpinned the youngest Ri's nappy was both pitiful and utterly hilarious.

_Well, what did he expect, the Arkenstone?_

"Master Baggins." The attendant's voice was firm. "If the baby keeps on kicking like this, then I'm afraid you will have to find another handler. My chin won't be able to take any more damage."

Raising an eyebrow at the "damaged", rather haughty chin, Bilbo looked up at the tall being.

"It's all part of being a baby," he explained, suppressing a sigh. "Kicking strengthens the leg and belly muscles. That will aid him greatly when he starts rolling."

"Rolling?"

"Of course. Nothing says "Hey, look at me, I'm starting to move around on my own accord because I found out that I actually have a body!" louder than rolling. My second-cousin, Ferdinand, will be turning one later this year, and he was in his rolling stage the last time I saw him."

"Is that characteristic of, ah, smaller creatures, this rolling?"

Bilbo ignored the insult and continued to speak. "Dwalin needs an activity to indulge his kicking. He'll need a much softer target to aim at – preferably not your _chin_."

The only thing that could rival the Elf's glare, dear readers, was probably that of the Eye of Sauron that would manifest many years from now, but I digress.

"What do you suggest?" he said through clenched teeth.

"If you have any tissue paper in Rivendell, then _I_ suggest that you ought to go and fetch it for me," answered the curly-haired creature with an unsuppressed grin. "Please," he added.

The handler stomped out of the nursery, bitter Sindarin words dripping from his lips. Chuckling to himself, Bilbo stood closer to Dwalin's crib – the dark-haired tyke in his arms had again retreated to the warmth of the Hobbit's neck ( _little parasitic rascal – oh botheration, I_ really _do need to find a better word than "parasitic"_ ). The Hobbit watched the tattooed baby pressing his feet into the crib's bedding.

_Rolling is a characteristic of smaller creatures, my bottom. Thank goodness Dwalin's a tall, long-legged fellow as an adult – he'd kick some common decency into that high and mighty Elf for all he was worth._

It took a while, but Dwalin's handler finally returned with a sheet of green tissue paper ( _another recognisable colour_ ). Gracelessly, he held out the sheet to Bilbo and spat, "What will _this_ be good for, playing peek-a-boo?"

Bilbo pointed at an armchair that had been pushed into the corner of the room in order to make way for the baby furniture. "Simply tuck it under that chair's cushion so that it hangs down. Go and do that whilst I get Dwalin for you."

Freeing his right arm, the Hobbit scooped up Dwalin; the moody babe was about to kick him when Thorin peeked out from his neck again. His ice-blue eyes settled on the other baby-shaped creature, and they seemed to flash.

"Nuh nuh," he burbled. "Nuh nuh."

Dwalin stared at him, his legs stiffening.

"Nuh nuh," went on Thorin, eyes flashing again. " _Nuuuh_ …"

Reluctantly, the tattooed Dwarfling's legs relaxed.

"Um nuh," he griped in his infant tongue.

His cousin was satisfied, and to the warmth he returned.

The attendant tucked the tissue paper sheet under the seat cushion so that it hung down like a lily-green waterfall. With a careful hold on Thorin, Bilbo gently laid little Dwalin down on his back and, bending his knees slightly, placed the soles of his feet against the sheet. Then he looked up at the Elf.

"Now watch," he commanded.

Using his fingertips, he rustled the sheet, which made a crinkly noise in return. Hearing the noise made Dwalin tuck his chin in his chest, his large eyes looking down to see where the noise came from. Seeing the sheet rustle again made him kick out, and he issued a pleased sound when the sheet rustled again, wrinkling from the impact. He repeatedly kicked his legs, delighted to see the green sheet making a noise and wrinkling in defeat.

"Yee!" he cooed. " _Yeehee!_ "

"He'll roll easily enough if keeps on building the strength in his muscles," informed Bilbo as he stood up. "Make sure he keeps tucking his chin like that. It's useful for when he rolls from his back and onto his belly."

"I shall if he minds out the way of _my_ chin," the handler replied curtly.

Secretly, Bilbo wished that Dwalin, in his developing mind, was envisioning the green sheet as his handler's chin and was getting delight out of kicking it.

* * *

  **15.00 PM – 18.00 PM**

– _Do not let Balin sleep with a blanket over him._

– _Do not dress Dori in uncomfortable clothing. He is quite thin-skinned (referring to his actual skin, not his personality)._

If there were ever firmer companions that walked Middle Earth, then it had to be Ferumbras III Took and his second-cousin, Primula Brandybuck. A four year age gap never stopped these two young Hobbits from enjoying each other's company and indulging in fun and games (the only possible hindrance was Otho Sackville-Baggins, who often tried to boss them around). What was uncanny was that the two cousins both had sensitive skin. When they were small, they disliked wearing woolly garments during winter and, when the summery months were upon the Shire, they would go streaking on the banks of the Brandywine River so that they could avoid wearing itchy fabrics.

Such sensitive skin conditions, and certainly not least their utter cheekiness, regularly gave their mothers Lalia and Mirabella apoplectic fits. Now that they were 25 and 21, they outgrew their streaking habits ( _how red they would get every time someone brings it up at a family gathering_ ) but not their dislike for knitwear.

So naturally, when Bilbo noticed how uncomfortable a whiny, ruddy-faced Dori looked during play-time, he pulled his handler aside a few minutes before the Dwarflings could be placed in their cribs for nap-time.

"Excuse me, but Dori's clothes look a bit too … tight," said Bilbo, looking at the auburn-haired baby in the Elf's arms ( _his complexion almost matches his hair colour, he's so red_ ). "And the fabric appears quite coarse. Aren't there any other articles of clothing he can wear?"

Feeling the material for himself, the attendant had to agree. "We quickly grabbed whatever item of clothing we could this morning after hearing what Mithrandir did to them. I also thought a Dwarvish infant would be used to wearing coarse fibres."

"Not really, no," the Hobbit declared, shaking his head. "Rough material used in the clothes Dori's wearing can be irritating for _any_ kind of baby. That, and the clothes are far too small."

_And let's not even begin with that awful green colour …_

The attendant pursed his lips. "We have clothing made out of cotton," he offered. "Mainly hand-me-downs, I'm afraid. Would that do?"

Bilbo nodded, patting Thorin's back as the tyke gave a yawn.

"Cotton will do fine for Ri-ri's – er, I mean, _Dori's_ sensitive skin," he answered. "And cotton makes one cooler in hot weather, which could improve his temperament. So long as what you can find is bigger than what he's got on now (less restriction on his movements, you know), then I'm all for cotton clothing."

Whilst the Elf went to get new clothing, Bilbo made haste to free little Dori from the confines of his green clothing – a feat, considering the drowsy lump of royal misery he was supporting at the same time. Once he was undressed, Dori's skin became less ruddy. He relaxed his limbs, stretching them every second or so to ease the aches out. His whines were soon reduced to soft little breaths.

"Poor Ri-ri," gushed Bilbo, unable to help himself. "You'll like your new clothes, Ri-ri, all soft and cottony! Like that, hmm, Ri-ri?"

" _Ri-ri", indeed! I wonder if Dori was ever a real Henny Penny to his brothers like I'm being to him right now. Then again, since it_ is _Dori, I wouldn't be surprised if he acted far worse than me._

_Still, it staggers me to think that he can be a fussy, cultured Dwarf when he wants to be, yet five seconds later he can turn into the fiercest individual that you'd dare not trifle with._

_Balin's a brave chap to court him …_

Thinking of Balin made Bilbo turn his head in the direction of the advisor-turned-wee babe's crib. Insofar, there had not been a problem with him, and the Hobbit wanted to keep it that way: he was getting rather tired from sorting out all the issues that had sprung up today. All he wanted to do was retreat to his quarters and sleep.

 _And sleep and sleep and_ _**sleep**_ _!_

But that would have to wait, especially whilst this first stage lasted. Caring for babies, regardless of race, is an exhausting affair. Their health, needs and wants came first no matter what.

_That means having to sacrifice several hours of my time for today and the next two days. Not to mention the difficulties that come with caring for toddlers and the phases thereafter …_

_There … after …?_

Bilbo's thoughts trailed off when he realised that Balin was lying in his crib, and that his attendant was leaning over him, placing a soft blanket over his small chubby body.

_Oh no!_

"I'd rather you didn't do that," piped up Bilbo, causing the tall being to look up in confusion.

"Am I using the wrong sort of blanket, Master Baggins?" he inquired.

"It's better to not use a blanket at all," was the response. "He could be smothered, and frankly that wouldn't be ideal. If Thorin knew that his advisor gave up the ghost because of a mere blanket, he'll rag on at me for ages."

"Then how else can the baby keep warm?"

_Leave him out in the sun, what do you think?!_

Bilbo indicated to the crib. "If you must use a blanket, may I suggest tucking it into the sides and the bottom of the crib? It'll keep away from his face if you do that."

Narrowing his eyes, he also added, "And _please_ don't use a woollen blanket. These may be Dwarves, but they're not insensitive. That's in terms of their skin, I mean – personality-wise, they can be a bit thoughtless. But yes, let's rule out the woolly items."

As Balin's handler went to get another blanket, Dori's handler returned with the new set of cotton clothing. It comprised of a yellowish shirt with a stretched collar ( _that will make it easier to fit over his head_ ) and equally yellowish pants ( _I suppose it's better than green_ ). The Elf began to dress him, and this time around the auburn-haired Dwarfling did not fight him. Instead, he seemed pleased with himself and his new clothes, gurgling enthusiastically and waving his limbs about.

"Ah heh," he spittled."Hee hee heh heh!"

And as for Balin, he, too, seemed pleased after his handler tucked in his blanket into the crib. He lay in the wooden structure, feeling comfortable on the soft material of his new blanket. His fingers, ungloved and plump, balled around the material tightly, only loosening when he fell asleep a few minutes later.

"Fusspots, the whole bally lot of them," grumbled Gandalf after he had washed his hands for the umpteenth time. "The finest cotton ever produced by Elves, and it's being worn by the unlikeliest creatures to ever walk the earth."

"Only the best for _my_ Dwarves," Bilbo murmured, smiling at Dori and Balin as they snoozed. Inwardly, he knew that they would appreciate such finery in their normal states.

In Thorin's case, however, Bilbo believed that the Dwarf would rather take the Ferumbras III and Primula route than dress up like an Elf.

* * *

  **18.00 PM – 20.00 PM**

– _Ori is easily over-stimulated. Calm him down._

Nap-time flew by quickly. It was a rather lucky thing that little Thorin had fallen asleep, because Bilbo was then able to deposit him in his crib back in his sleeping quarters. Napping with a baby on a bed posed more harm than good.

_That, and he's awfully clingy. He needs to get accustomed to his crib, otherwise I'll end up with a thin neck and stretched clothing._

As he looked at the dozing babe, the Hobbit had to admit that Thorin looked rather ( _dear me_ ) cute. Stretched out on his back, with his tiny fingers curled, his tubby legs bent and his dark lashes touching the tops of his plump cheeks, he was the picture of adorableness.

"And from _this_ you grew up to be Thorin blooming Oakenshield," Bilbo mumbled.

Baby Thorin simply dreamed his little dreams.

Bilbo spent the hour resting in his bed and drinking a cup of tea that an attendant had brought him. When 4 o'clock came, he gently scooped up his Dwarvish charge and made his way back to the nursery. The other Dwarves had woken up, and they were ready to be fed. By 6 o'clock, the last play-time period for the day was in full swing. The nursery was soon filled with the sounds of _rat-tat-rat-tats!_ of rattles, squeaks of rubbers toys and overjoyed exclamations made in baby babble. It amused Bilbo to see Thorin playing with his rattle, for he waved it around as if it were a miniature sword. Fíli and Kíli, playing close by with their own rattles, mimicked his movements, although their uncle paid them no mind.

"Ghee," Fíli uttered, jutting out his bottom lip.

"Ghee," Kíli repeated, looking at his rattle as if it was at fault for failing to attract Thorin's attention.

They were not the only displeased babies.

"WAAAHH!"

The cry drew everyone's attention at once. Bilbo's head jerked up, and he was both surprised and distressed to see that it was little Ori who was making the fuss. He was in his handler's arms, wriggling about in a violent manner. His mouth was wide open, his hands were clenched into fists and tears streamed down his cheeks.

"WAAAHH! WAAAHH!" he wailed.

"Shh, little one, shh," crooned Bilbo, getting up and running over to Elf attendant and his charge. "It's alright."

To the attendant, he asked, "Did he hurt himself?"

The other being shook his head, trying his utmost to keep the babe still. "He was fine a few minutes ago before play-time started. Now he is suddenly acting up, and I can't think what caused it!"

"Perhaps it's the noise levels," wondered Bilbo aloud. "Ori was never one for loud noise if he couldn't help it. Tried to make it up with enthusiasm, I noticed on this quest, but otherwise he preferred being on his own with his journal. He's a clever chap, you know."

"Right now, Master Baggins, he's striking me as a very upset baby who needs to be sorted out."

"WAAAHH!" Ori howled.

"That as well. I do believe he's overstimulated, what with all this kerfuffle. Babies like him can't abide all the activity and noises going on."

_Reminds me of dear Paladin II Took. What with having four sisters and being the only boy, bless him, he'd be reduced to tears when the grown-ups made a fuss of him. It certainly doesn't help that Adalgrim parades him around at events. My happy hat, Méraude nearly walloped her husband when he made Paladin talk to Lobelia Sackville-Baggins at Ivy Lilliefast's birthday party last month, the poor boy wouldn't stop crying until he got home!_

"WAAAHHH!"

"The best thing you can do," the Hobbit continued, raising his voice over the squall, "is to take Ori outside where it's quiet. Hopefully he'll calm down when he's out of noise range. When you choose a spot, stick with it, because he'll start to find it familiar and calming; in the event he acts up again, he'll learn to associate, uh, "quiet time" with that spot. Have you got that? Good, then off you go!"

With aching arms (and ears), the Elf carried the screeching Ori out of the nursery. They could hear the Dwarfling's cries gradually fading for nearly 30 seconds until they could be heard no more. Unlike this morning, the rest of the Dwarves did not start crying as well ( _thank my lucky stars!_ ). Baby Dwalin had momentarily paused in his kicking exercise to watch the other Dwarf being escorted out, but not even three seconds later his attention was back on the tissue paper.

Bilbo returned to Thorin ("Don't look so grumpy, your Majesty, I didn't abandon you on purpose.") and played with him, waiting for Ori's handler to return.

 _They're taking_ _**ages**_ _._

Surprisingly, Ori and his handler _did_ come back – about 20 minutes later.

"My goodness, I thought you went to find a quiet spot, not attempt to walk to Erebor," declared Bilbo. To his eyes, Ori looked complacent. His freckled face was dry of tears, and he cooed softly.

The attendant smiled tiredly. "He wouldn't stop crying, no matter what spot I could find. I walked all the way down Lord Elrond's garden until I stood under an oak tree. It was only then that he soon calmed down. Now imagine having to walk all the way back here – I thank the Valar that we Elves have been blessed with such high stamina."

_A shame that they couldn't bless you lot with basic child-rearing skills._

Little Ori's wet mouth upturned into a gummy smile as his big eyes focused on Bilbo. Cleverness flickered in and out of those orbs like little sparks of light. It made the curly-haired creature smile in return, a smile that was quickly exchanged for an exasperated frown and dark mutters of "Oh, botheration on you and your kin thrice daily" when baby Thorin unceremoniously threw his rattle at him.

It was followed by more dark mutters too sensitive to write when Fíli and Kíli imitated their uncle and threw their rattles at Bilbo as well.

* * *

  **20.00 PM – 21.00 PM**

– _Pacify Glóin with a pacifier, but also be wary of him becoming too attached to his pacifier._

It was actually after half past seven that Glóin started drifting off to sleep. The signs were showing as he was finishing off his feed: he could barely keep his eyes open, and his head was lolling back. Indeed, he was ready for beddy-bye time ( _for the lack of a better phrase_ ).

But when his handler removed the bottle's teat from his mouth, the flame-fuzzed Dwarfling's eyes shot open. He was now wide awake, alert and annoyed.

"Dah wah wah!" he griped loudly. "Dah dah wah!"

"Just when I thought he had fallen asleep," his handler groaned.

Overhearing him, Bilbo – who had deposited Thorin with Gandalf for what the Hobbit liked to call "the changing of the guard" (in other words, nappy duty) – piped up: "Try not to let Glóin doze off during his feed. He'll start associating the drinking of the formula with falling asleep."

Biting back a grumble that resembled something along the lines of being grateful for not having children, the Elf retorted, "He will complain if I remove the bottle. I have no energy to deal with his attitude if that is the case."

"A simple "What do you recommend, Master Baggins?" would suffice nicely, thank you very much," the Hobbit half-barked, worn out from dealing with clueless, unmannerly Elves. "So do you want my help or not?"

The attendant narrowed his eyes at the smaller creature.

"If you insist on being … _insistent_ … then yes."

Little Glóin watched the Hobbit turn on his heels. When he came back, the wee babe made an audible yowl when he saw the pacifier in his hand.

"It's for your own good, Glóin," dismissed Bilbo, softening his tone. "Doo-doo time for you, Glóin, doo-doo time!"

The attendant wrinkled his nose. "That sounds vile."

"Doo-doo time, otherwise known as bed-time," was the clipped explanation. Bilbo positioned himself in front of the flame-fuzzed tyke, lifting the pacifier up to his mouth.

"Neeehhh," whined Glóin. "Neeeehhh …"

"It's okay, little starling," Bilbo whispered. "You told me this was how you used to get Gimli to sleep …"

_Pop!_

The pacifier was in the Dwarfling's mouth. Glóin would have spat it out if he had not instinctively began sucking on it. For him, it felt like his mouth was back on the teat again, and the sensation soothed him a great deal.

Seeing how relaxed he was becoming, Bilbo said to his handler, "Put him into his crib and watch that pacifier work its magic."

_A magic that Gandalf wished he knew – if he did, then my companions wouldn't have ended up being babysat by incompetent Elves._

The Elf did as he was told. Lying in his crib, Glóin continue to suck on the pacifier. He revelled in the soothing sensation that the oral instrument brought him. As he lay there on his back with lax limbs and his mouth working on the pacifier, he could feel his eyes becoming heavy, beginning to shut on its own accord …

"Mmm," he quietly emitted before sleep cradled him in its clutches.

Bilbo looked up at the Elf with a grin so smug that a snake would be both proud and ashamed of it.

"Works like a charm," he said triumphantly.

The other being rolled his eyes before replying. "I suppose it helps."

"He'll learn to associate sleeping with the pacifier. Mind you, he mustn't get too attached to the darn thing, otherwise he'll wake up immediately if it falls out. He's not old enough to reinsert it himself. Regulate the use to only when he starts becoming sleepy during his last two feeds, those being before bed-time and at 2 o'clock in the morning."

Scoffing, the Elf remarked, "How a pacifier makes a baby instantly sleep, I cannot fathom."

"Think of it this way," Bilbo responded airily. "When you have your potent Elvish drink of wine that renders you speechless and altogether unconscious, you'll find that the same logic applies."

It was a good thing that Glóin was deep in slumber, otherwise he would have picked up on the pointy-earred being's crude choice of words that he muttered the moment the Hobbit left him alone.

* * *

 – _Sing Bofur to sleep (preferably not in Sindarin, more's the pity)._

The Elvish maiden that tended to Bofur was a lovely soul. She seemed to have grown fond of the dimpled Dwarfling, as she called him "Dumpling" whenever she spoke to him. He gave her no fuss, and she doted on him as if he were her little brother.

_Makes a change from some of the Elves here._

So you can imagine how despondent she looked when bed-time ( _finally, finally,_ _ **finally**_ _!_ ) arrived. The Elves, completely spent from having to manage this Dwarvish lot all day, placed their charges in their cribs and cooed kindly to them in a bid to make them fall asleep faster. Gandalf was gone from the nursery before any of them ( _another bubble-bath is in order, I suppose_ ).

Bilbo was half-way out the door with Thorin when a serene voice began to sing, the mellifluous tones making the hairs on the tips of his ears stand up.

Turning around, his eyes fell on Bofur's attendant standing by the babe's crib. Holding the blue-eyed Dwarf, she slowly rocked him as she crooned under her breath. She sang in her tongue, her timbre dipping high and low like fingers rolling smoothly over harp-strings; Bilbo had no idea what she was saying, but the tune moved his heart all the same. He felt compelled to walk back into the nursery just to hear the song from beginning to end.

_A fascinating language, is Sindarin. I wouldn't mind learning it …_

"Oh, Dumpling, that ought to have sent you straight to sleep!"

Her voice, spoken and not sung, brought Bilbo back to his senses. Blinking, he saw the attendant frowning at her charge, who merely stared back with fluttering topaz-blue eyes.

"Dag guh," he guggled. "Nuh."

"Nuh? _Nuh_? You are a terrible one, aren't you?"

"Indeed he is," agreed Bilbo, who appeared beside the Elf. "That was a beautiful song."

"Thank you, Master Baggins," she replied, smiling. "My _nandhril_ used to sing it to me as a child when she would put me to bed. It never failed."

Then she was despondent again. "I'm sad to say that it doesn't seem to have any apparent effect on young Bofur here."

"Strange, since he's quite the music lover. They _all_ are quite proficient when it comes music, but Bofur's the one who's always singing and playing his flute. He likes a cheerful song."

"Well, I must admit that my song isn't exactly a lullaby for children. It's a poem that more or less turned into a song."

"What was it about?" the smaller being inquired.

Here, the Elf blushed.

"It is about a lot of things," she answered, "but now that I think about it … the topic of tragic death isn't pleasant for babies to hear, am I right?"

"… it wouldn't be ideal, no," the Hobbit admitted.

 _No wonder Bofur didn't fall asleep – if someone sang to_ me _about death before I went to sleep, I'd be up all night._

_Or maybe Bofur just doesn't like Sindarin. Go figure._

_But it's still a beautiful song …_

"Tell you what," he said, seeing the attendant distressed, "if you promise to teach me your song one day, I can teach you a lullaby to sing to Bofur."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Will your lullaby work?" she asked.

"A lullaby so lulling that it lulls the most stubborn of listeners to la-la land," proclaimed Bilbo (either his eyes were playing tricks on him, or he saw Thorin's eyes rolling). "My mother, bless her soul, used to sing a charming lullaby to me as a child. Not that _I_ was stubborn or anything, mind you – I just loved hearing that song when she sung it. She called it the Bird Song. Would you like to hear it?"

She smiled.

"I'm all ears, Master Baggins."

"Alright," he said, delighted. "Rock Bofur to the tempo. Nice and gentle, as you were doing earlier. It'll make him feel comfortable …"

Trailing off into a hum, he performed the motion with Thorin, whose large eyes widened as his handler began rocking him to and fro at a slow pace. It was oddly calming, as was the warmth that the curly-haired creature gave off.

The attendant rocked Bofur in time with Bilbo, adding a hum of her own. Their collective hums made a pleasant combination, and it put the two Dwarflings at ease.

"Ah oer," Bofur murmured, his dimples on display.

With his attention on him, Bilbo began to sing his lullaby:

 _A little bird flew down today_  
_With feathers as red as rubies._  
_I asked him, "How'd you_ _come my way?"_  
_And, "Could you sing me a song, if you please?"_

 _Crowed he, "I came down with the rising sun_  
_And over mountains I shall fly,_  
_So I cannot stay to sing, my son,_  
_I bid thee farewell and goodbye!"_

 _Another bird flew down today_  
_With feathers as green as beryl._  
_I asked him, "Oh please, could you stay?"_  
_And, "Sing to me, lest you are in peril."_

 _Chirped he, "I cannot stay a minute longer,_  
_Through the forests I must fly._  
_The noon's rays grow ever stronger,_  
_And so, my son, until next time!"_

 _Another bird flew down today_  
_With feathers as blue as topaz._  
_I asked him, "Could you, if you may,_  
_Sing my bonny lad to sleep for laughs?"_

 _He opened his beak, and mournful he sung_  
_Under the silver stars so bright._  
_He sang his song to you, my son,_  
_And bid you, 'fore he flew, "Good night!"_

The last words were sung low, and before the Hobbit knew it, silence had reigned, save for the breathing of his sleeping comrades. Observing Bofur, he could see that the wee babe's eyes had closed at last. He snuggled himself against his handler's chest, her heartbeat echoing pleasantly in his ears. He would dream of drums, flutes and songbirds tonight.

His handler was happy.

"What a lovely song, Master Baggins," she complimented. "I was almost afraid that he would never fall asleep."

Bilbo beamed. "Just remind me to go over the lyrics again tomorrow so that when it's bed-time again, you'll know exactly what do."

"I appreciate it. I shall do the same when I teach you my _nandhril_ 's song."

Her voice lowered to a whisper.

"Perhaps I could also teach you Sindarin? Mithrandir says you are interested in aspects of Elvish culture."

Bilbo canted his head to the side. "Would you really? He said that?"

"Yes and yes. That is, of course, when there is spare time in-between taking care of these Dwarves. Mithrandir happened to mention your interest to Lord Elrond, given that it is your first time in the Hidden Valley, and that you are immensely bright."

"How nice of him to say."

_Would have been nicer to hear it in person – he's not exactly one to issue praises openly._

As if she had read his thoughts, the attendant added, "Although I doubt he would repeat it for your benefit since he is preoccupied with his nappy-changing duties."

_Fair point._

Slowly and carefully, the Elf maiden placed Bofur into his crib. Murmuring good night to him, she turned to face Bilbo; an amused expression suddenly blossomed across her features. Seeing it, the shorter creature furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

"And now?" he asked.

She merely drew her eyes downwards, retaining her amused look.

Following her gaze, Bilbo looked down.

_Well, I'll be._

Baby Thorin had fallen fast asleep. As the Hobbit rocked him and sang the Bird Song, the Dwarfling began to succumb to his fatigue – what with the tall grey being mishandling him, his crying and the constant attempts he had to make to keep his curly-haired handler's attention, the little thing was, to say the least, completely knackered. And the pointy-earred being's pitiful singing hardly helped in that regard.

But now he snoozed peacefully, his podgy fingers clinging onto Bilbo's shirt. Goodness knows what he was dreaming about, if he was dreaming at all, but it could not be denied that he was happy where he was.

"Huh, seems like my mother's lullaby had the same effect on Thorin," murmured Bilbo. "At least I've found another way to get him to sleep faster. Curse him, why must he look so adorable?"

Then again, as the first gruelling day of Gandalf's spell would prove, no one was going to think Thorin Oakenshield and Company "adorable" for long.

* * *

 – _Thorin is clingy. Whether that is good or bad for his development will remain yet to be seen._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leithio nin! - Release me!  
> Nandhril - Grandmother.
> 
> Pansy, Peony and Petunia Took - second-cousins of Bilbo Baggins, eldest daughters of Adalgrim and Méraude Took.
> 
> Ferdinand Took - second-cousin of Bilbo Baggins, son of Sigismond Took and his wife, and later father of Ferdibrand Took. Attended Bilbo's 111th birthday with his family.
> 
> Ferumbras III Took - second-cousin of Bilbo Baggins, son of Fortinbras II and Lalia Took. Later became Thain at the time of Bilbo's 111th birthday. Never married because no one wanted Lalia for a mother-in-law.
> 
> Primula Brandybuck - cousin of Bilbo Bilbo Baggins, daughter of Gorbadoc and Mirabella Brandybuck, and later wife of Drogo Baggins and mother of Frodo Baggins.
> 
> Paladin II Took - second-cousin of Bilbo Baggins, the only son of Adalgrim and Méraude Took, and later husband of Eglantine Banks and father to three daughters - Pearl, Pimpernel and Pervinca - and one son, Peregrin "Pippin" Took. Was the 31st Thain, and he organised a defense against the Chief's men when Saruman took control of the Shire.
> 
> Conclusion one: Bilbo is indeed a godsend.  
> Conclusion two: Someone's going to look through my search history one day and will wonder why the heck I was researching things regarding how to care for babies. ^-^;;
> 
> So that ends Part Two of this chapter - the plan is for each chapter to be dedicated to each day of their three-day stages (so you can be assured that the Terrible Twos are coming soon). Don't worry about Gandalf not appearing too much in this part, he'll appear more in the next chappie (he's currently paying for his trolling sins). Also, I didn't mean to place that much focus on Bofur's handler, I just wanted a nice Elf for a change. She'll only appear when the story calls for it (and if you guys like her well enough).
> 
> If you've noticed me laying down the hints for the Dwarf pairings like the subtle duck I am, go buy yourself a cookie. ;)
> 
> Again, thanks for hanging in there whilst this story was on hiatus. Let me know what you thought of this chapter!
> 
> *~AI07~* :)


	5. In Sickness And In Health

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Valar decides that being turned into a baby isn't enough punishment for Thorin - or Bilbo, for that matter. Meanwhile, Lord Elrond's place in Valinor will surely be gilded in gold when he has to deal with the stubborn Dwarfling and his equally-stubborn handler.

It was still and quiet. Barely a hint of wind made itself present, and the trees stood motionless and silent in the dark. A cosy black blanket had covered Rivendell, and Bilbo, upon waking up from his slumber, was almost tempted to close his eyes and fall asleep again. But he knew that he had to get up and give little Thorin his night-time feed.

 _Feeding Thorin at 2 o'clock in the morning … huh, such a thing would never happen if he had been an adult_ , thought Bilbo with a yawn. _The idea of feeding him sounds utterly ridiculous in itself, let alone waking up at an ungodly hour to do such a thing. He would have surely glared at me something fierce. I thank my lucky stars that I never had to wake him up to take second or third watch, otherwise he'd glare at me until the break of dawn._

 _But yes, he certainly wouldn't be pleased about someone feeding him as if he were a baby, especially by the likes of me. Although in_ this _case, he has no choice in the matter …_

Putting on his sleeping gown and yawning some more, the Hobbit lit a candle, which bathed his quarters in an orange light. He then padded over to Thorin's crib. The babe lay stretched out on his back and snoozed away. He looked relaxed, although his face had attained a rosy pallor.

_It's probably from the candle-light. What a peachy glow it's giving him._

But his suspicions were aroused somewhat when he picked the Dwarfling up. Touching his cheeks, he found that his skin was quite warm. The skin around his neck and on his tiny palms also radiated heat. The touching awoke Thorin, who blinked his eyes in befuddlement, wondering why he was being prodded like this, and right in the middle of a fantastic dream, too! He gave a little whine, which transformed into a series of small yet hoarse coughs.

"Ack," he managed to gripe once he regained his breath.

Bilbo narrowed his eyes at him.

"Hmph, I hope you're not catching a cold," he murmured. "Goodness knows that I have enough on my plate looking after you as is, so it'd be awfully decent of you if you didn't get sick."

Baby Thorin stared blankly back at him. Sometimes his handler just said or did things that greatly confused him, so he saw no point in why the creature said or did those things at all.

Bilbo stifled another yawn. "Maybe I'm making a fuss over nothing, but I'll check your temperature later on – perhaps you'll be feeling better then. Ah, someone's at the door! That must be one of the attendants with your bottle. Behave nicely for him, if you please!"

Two Elves entered the room, one carrying a bottle of formula and the other carrying a bowl of hot water. Bilbo had decided to carry out Thorin's night-time feeding in his sleeping quarters rather than move him back and forth between here and the nursery. That, and he did not want the baby Dwarf to be exposed to the night air. It was better off to prepare a bottle in advance and simply heat it up in his room. After giving the Hobbit a muted greeting ( _they must be rather peeved at waking up this early, although they're hiding their fatigue – and peevishness – rather well_ ), the second Elf laid the bowl on a table and the first one placed the bottle into the bowl to be heated. When it reached an adequate temperature, it was given to Bilbo – thereafter, they left the room with the bowl, as if they had never been there in the first place.

"Rather have a pair of subdued Elves helping me than Lord Elrond's sons," remarked Bilbo to himself.

He offered the bottle's teat to Thorin, and he was relieved to see the wee babe suckling on it without any resistance.

"At least you've still got your appetite," he said. "I wouldn't be able to sleep properly knowing that you're starving. We've already been through enough near-death experiences on this quest, and I don't think you would want history to remember you – Thorin Oakenshield, King Under The Mountain – as dying from starvation all because you refused to drink your milk formula. Oh botheration, how silly _that_ sounds just saying it out loud …"

As usual, Thorin paid no attention to his nonsensical words. He finished his feed and, much to his handler's surprise, did not put up a clingy fight as he was placed back into his crib; instead, his eyes fluttered open and shut a few times before they finally closed, and the rise and fall of his chest showed that he had fallen asleep. Bilbo merely chalked his non-clingy behaviour up to a combination of a full stomach and sleepiness. As for his complexion, the rosiness had dimmed by several shades.

 _Perhaps it was just a temporary hot flush and nothing more_ , the Halfling mused, pressing a gentle finger against the Dwarfling's apple-plump cheek. _I don't think I'd be able to cope with a sick Dwarf baby, not when I'm still needed to help here and there with my other companions._

It was at this precise moment that the Valar heard his thoughts and decided, in all their wisdom, that they were not going to let Bilbo Baggins rest easily over the coming hours.

* * *

"WAAAHH! WAAAHH!"

The sound of Thorin's howls woke Bilbo up long before 7 o'clock. In fact, it was only 6:30. The Hobbit sat up straight in his bed when the high-pitched wails hit his ears: confusion, grogginess and panic filled his frame as he realised that those wails sounded more heart-sore than usual.

_Sweet Yavanna, mother of Middle Earth, what's wrong with him?_

He all but flung himself out of bed and rushed to the crib. The dark-haired Dwarf baby was bawling for all he was worth, his body curled up and his fists clenched. Between each pause for breath, he would issue hoarse coughs. His skin was flushed, and both his eyes and mouth were dry of tears and spittle.

"ACK ACK, AAHHH AAHHH WAAAAHH!" the Dwarfling cried.

"Shh, Thorin, it's okay," Bilbo tried to soothe him, only to be met with another round of howls and coughs. "It's okay, I'm here, shh …"

Removing him from the crib, Bilbo placed a hand against Thorin's ruddy forehead: it was hot to the touch, higher than his average body temperature. He felt his neck and checked his palms – they, too, were hot, and most certainly hotter than they were a few hours ago.

_Good grief, it's like taking a fresh loaf of bread out of the oven without any gloves on!_

It was clear to him that Thorin was sick. With a fever, to be specific. In his babysitting experience, he never had to deal with his infant Took cousins when they were ill. Their parents were the ones who took care of them when that happened, because no child wanted to be left alone in the company of strangers whilst feeling poorly. They craved tender loving care that only their mother and father could provide.

_And curse my damn luck, I'm looking after the clingiest baby in all of Dwarfdom!_

"WAAAHH! _WAAAHH! ACK!_ "

"It's okay, little one," comforted Bilbo. He placed Thorin on his shoulder, the Dwarfling's head pressed once more against his neck, and rubbed his back in small circles. Thorin's nose was wet against his skin, making him flinch inwardly, but he knew that this was the least of his worries.

"Let's get you to the nursery, little one," he gently whispered. "The Elves will know how to deal with a fever … _that's_ something they could do with confidence, I'm sure of it."

_But I swear to the Valar and on all things bright and beautiful, if any of the other Dwarves are sick as well, I shall pilfer Gandalf's staff, turn him into a frog and throw him into the nearest lake._

The Dwarves' handlers had not yet arrived at the nursery as it was still early. It was dim inside, for the curtains had yet to be drawn. The soft sounds of the slumbering babies' breaths were all that could be heard. Bilbo was scared that little Thorin's cries would wake them, but fortunately his wailing subsided on the way over. He was now just sniffing and coughing, feeling unbearably hot and achy.

"Ag," he gurgled weakly before barking out a cough.

"Poor thing," Bilbo said softly, lightly patting the tiny creature's back. "Let's get you fed, and then it's off to a bath with you."

He cast a glance at his infantile comrades. Like their leader, they, too, were cute to behold. No longer rugged, boorish and overbearing, Bilbo never imagined that this lot of Dwarves could be adorable and placid, be it as adults _or_ as babies.

Nor could he have ever imagined that they would have a fragment of a romantic bone in their bodies.

When Gandalf explained to him that the Dwarves' quarrel had been the result of their secretly courting each other, the curly-haired creature was in disbelief. _Courting each other? On_ this _quest? A quest to kill a Dragon and reclaim a lost kingdom? All the makings of a suicide mission, yet this lot are succumbing to goodness knows what that's floating in the air and are courting each other_ _ **now**_ _?!_

Also, Bilbo felt foolish. He had been travelling with the Company of Thorin Oakenshield for almost two months, and he never knew – never had the slightest _inkling_ – that his companions were romantically involved with each other. Granted, they were secretive creatures whose gruff exteriors hardly invoked questions of romance from their burglar. Glóin and Bombur were, at times, the only exceptions: when one was not being a miserly character (Glóin) and the other was not stuffing his mouth with food (Bombur), they talked about their wives back in Ered Luin. Glóin was devoted to his wife and his son, as indicated by his precious locket which contained their images; Bombur, meanwhile, was an equally caring husband and a doting father to ( _good grief!_ ) 12 children.

"So ye can imagine how much of a pain in the arse it is to find gifts fer his bairns durin' Yuletide," Bofur joked to a flabbergasted Bilbo. "Though it must be more of a pain in the arse fer dear Grete to give birth to 'em all! My ol' papa must be so proud of her and our Bombur, bless his soul. I know _I_ am – at least tha' means I don't need to provide our _Adad_ with any more grandchildren."

 _My goodness, I wonder if Bombur will remember that he_ has _12 children when he reaches the other stages_ , thought Bilbo as he looked in the youngest Ur's direction. _That would be a shock to the system._

But yes, the Hobbit was unaware of the Dwarves' relationships. He did not think that Bofur and Nori were anything more than friends … he did not sense that the relationship between Bifur and Óin had extended beyond that of a doctor and his patient … he did not realise that Balin and Dori's sharing common interests had brought them closer together … he did not consider that Dwalin and Ori, opposites in every way, would be attracted to one another …

_And Thorin …_

" _You're wanting to court someone in the company, Uncle, but you're being so darn miserable about it …"_

_If Kíli is right, then who could this Dwarf be …?_

Whether it was Thorin coughing into his neck, the thoughts of said Dwarf-turned-baby wanting to court an unknown Dwarf, or his thoughts of this group of babies actually being comprised of couples (or all) that prompted Bilbo to pull out of his thought process, one cannot say. But the Baggins-ish voice inside his mind told him sternly:

_Bilbo, you've got a sick baby on your hands – literally. Now is not the appropriate time to dwell upon your companions' love lives. Not whilst they're babies, for Yavanna's sake._

Quietly, the Hobbit prepared his charge's feed ( _I've got to keep Thorin hydrated as much as possible – starve a cold and feed a fever, as my mother used to say_ ). Upon presenting the bottle to him, however, Thorin struggled to drink the formula. In fact, he did not finish it, much to Bilbo's worry. He hacked sorrowfully when he released the teat, the white liquid dribbling from his mouth.

"Ack aag neh," he mewled.

"It's all going to be okay, Thorin," consoled his handler. "You're going to be alright. Want a little bit more milk, hmm? No? Okie-dokie, then let's get along to the basin. You'll look so clean and pretty afterwards – oh yes you will indeed! And you'll feel so much better."

By the time the wee babe was sitting waist-deep in lukewarm water, the other attendants had arrived with a bone-weary Gandalf in tow. The rustle of curtains being drawn and the sound of Elvish voices brought the Dwarflings out of their sleep. Some of them burst into tears whilst others babbled to themselves. With the knowledge they had learnt from Master Baggins yesterday, the Elves were keen to keep the fussy levels of their charges at a minimum this time. That, and several of them wanted to show their fuzzy-footed guest that they were quite capable of looking after babies and that they were not in need of his condescension, thanks very much.

Spared for a moment, Gandalf plodded over to Bilbo's side. Strain was etched into his features.

"I'll be glad when this lot reaches the tween stage," he grumbled. "At least I'm good with children … and there'll be no more nappies to change."

"Then let us hope and pray that they'll have the common sense to ask _you_ to wipe their bottoms for them."

The Wizard gave the Halfling a withering look before his attention turned to baby Thorin. "I say, he doesn't look at all happy. And what a ruddy complexion! Has he taken ill?"

Bilbo nodded. "He's been feeling poorly since 2 o'clock this morning. I thought it would pass over, but it turned out to be a fever."

He began to sponge Thorin's chest. "My mother always said that a lukewarm bath would help to bring one's temperature down when one has a fever, especially if the one who has it is a baby."

Even the tall being had to feel sorry for the dark-haired baby, for he cut a pitiful little figure, sitting in a basin with rose-red skin, a runny nose and a dry mouth out of which laboured breaths passed. "It couldn't have happened overnight. Usually these things build up over time."

Bilbo nodded again, although he bit on his bottom lip precariously.

"I just hope that it will go away quickly. It's not easy seeing him suffer like this. An average person could deal with illnesses without too much of a hassle, but babies don't have that luxury."

"Don't agonise yourself with such thoughts," chided Gandalf without malice. "Come, finish the bath. Thorin will feel much better afterwards, I'm sure."

Unfortunately, Thorin was feeling the complete opposite of better. As Bilbo began to towel him dry, the baby Dwarf fought against him, twisting his body in various directions and whining in protest every time the curly-haired being came at him with the funny-feeling material. He was causing quite a hullabaloo – or at least, a hullabaloo that entailed a lot more fuss than usual.

"Nee neyeh neh!" the baby complained, his ice-blue eyes darting frantically. "Neyeeh _ack_!"

"Shh, Thorin, don't be scared," Bilbo said, trying to contain his own anxiety. "I won't hurt you. Shh, shh."

His shushing did nothing to soothe Thorin's nerves.

"Awee," he moaned, breathing laboriously. "Aweee neh wah."

"Oh dear, he sounds awful," a serene voice remarked.

Bilbo turned to his left to find Bofur's handler standing beside him. Bofur himself was in her arms, focusing on his feed. His handler, however, had eyes only for the Hobbit's charge. Sympathy crossed her features.

"Perhaps it would be best if Thorin receives attention from a healer," she said. "It would also give _you_ the opportunity to rest yourself, Master Baggins – I dare say that you look quite tired."

Bilbo offered her a weak smile.

"Thank you, but I'm not entirely confident in Thorin's ability to be dignified if I were to hand him over to a healer," he replied. "He hasn't, um, taken to Elves just yet. Typical of a 91-year-old baby that's stuck in his ways, you know."

Her expression did not change.

"It would be best to take him to a healer," she stressed. "Lord Elrond can assist you."

" _Lord Elrond?_ " Bilbo gawped at that. "Surely he's rather busy with his own commitments? And I doubt he'd be pleased to help a Dwarf who acted harshly in his home."

The attendant gave him a wry smile.

"Harsh or otherwise, all welcomed guests that pass through Rivendell are deserving of Lord Elrond's affable nature," she stated. "I've no doubt that he will help Thorin Oakenshield again, as he has done before. And I'm certain that Thorin has developed some respect for him, grudging though it must be. He will be able to sense that he is in good hands, much like he senses it when he is with _you_."

Those words made Bilbo stick his head up in surprise. The Elf maiden continued:

"Yes, he would take easily to Lord Elrond like he has taken to you. I would have offered to help him myself, but Lord Elrond's healing abilities far surpasses my own. That, and Thorin would … _not_ be very happy to be handled by the likes of me or my fellow attendants, if you know what I mean."

The Hobbit nodded. "Yes, Thorin wouldn't be happy if I dumped him with them." _And what with my griping at them yesterday,_ _ **I**_ _wouldn't be happy, either._ "I think you all already have your hands full right now with my comrades."

She nodded, her grey eyes shimmering.

"Go to the healing chambers and wait there. I shall fetch Lord Elrond for you."

* * *

The room in which Bilbo and baby Thorin found themselves in was a spacious affair. It was well lit, appropriately furnished as healing chambers go, and the ceiling was supported by dark, richly-carved beams. Sunlight dappled the walls, and nearby was the sound of a waterfall.

_A delightful setting in normal circumstances. Although I suppose "normal circumstances" would entail a patient being on the verge of death and having to be brought here._

_And I doubt that this current situation involving a sick baby Dwarf with a particular distaste for Elves fits the criteria of "normal circumstances", either._

Meanwhile, the aforementioned "sick baby Dwarf with a particular distaste for Elves" was having a poor time. The dryness in his mouth had gotten worse, and his difficulty breathing increased his wheezy coughs. His skin was aflame and scarlet, and the body-ache refused to go away.

"Mmm," he whimpered.

Bilbo comforted him the best way he could, rubbing his back and cooing to him, but the wee babe paid him no mind. Even the warmth of his handler's neck provided no relief, adding to his present discomfort. It simply broke the Hobbit's heart to see the infant suffering.

_Valar help me, I feel so useless. If I hadn't dismissed the symptoms earlier this morning, this fever would have been dealt with sooner. Confound my utter ignorance and stupidity! Confound it all to –_

"Good morning, Master Baggins."

An elegant figure entered the room: it was Lord Elrond. Something about his presence captivated Bilbo whenever he appeared. Perhaps it was his affable nature or his mystique that came from being an Elf. Enchanting as the day and eternal as the night, it amazed the small creature that such wisdom and compassion characterised a being who was so young in appearance.

"And good morning to you, Lord Elrond," he replied. "I'm sorry to pull you out of, er, whatever it is you were doing at such an ungodly hour. Hopefully you weren't asleep."

The other being raised an eyebrow.

"Not at all, I was awake already," he said. "I was having breakfast."

Bilbo groaned. "Oh dear, then I apologise a thousand times more. Not a great start to the day when you're interrupted during breakfast."

Elrond raised his other eyebrow, albeit in amusement.

"It's not the end of the world if I don't eat," he stated. Running his eyes up and down the other's figure, he added, "But I do hope that _you_ are sticking to eating your meals. I know that you think that caring for these Dwarves is your main priority, but I'd rather you be at your best instead of caring for them when you're hungry or tired."

The tips of Bilbo's ears burned.

"I manage to find time to cater to my needs in-between caring for my companions," he answered, mustering up his confidence. "But it's not me you should be worried about. It's Thorin. He has a fever and it doesn't look good."

"A fever," Elrond repeated as he approached the Halfling. His eyes took in the baby's sickly pallor, studying the telltale symptoms from the red-hot skin to the dry mouth. Slowly and carefully, he placed his hand against Thorin's forehead, feeling the heat; Thorin would have yelled at the foreign contact if not for the fact that the pointy-earred being's mitt was cool to the touch. It was oddly comforting in lieu of the curly-haired creature's warmth.

After half a minute or so, Elrond removed his hand. Turning his attention to Bilbo, he said, "Usually a fever is a way for the body to respond to infections such as a cold. Nevertheless, with a fever as high as this, it needs to be taken seriously, particularly in the case of a baby."

Bilbo nodded with a hint of impatience. He knew this already. All he wanted was a solution.

"I can tend to Thorin here where it's much cooler than in the nursery," the Elf went on. "It must be quite stuffy in there with a lot of bodies constantly moving in and out. He will need plenty of fluids and some medicine to reduce his fever."

"Is the medicine safe? To give him, I mean."

"I would not administer it to him if that wasn't the case," answered Elrond. "It might not be the best-tasting remedy, but it will fulfil its purpose."

He stretched his hands out in front of him. Bilbo stared at them before looking up him.

"Lord Elrond?" he squeaked.

The tall being canted his head to the side.

"The baby, Master Baggins," he said. "Please will you pass him to me so that I may tend to him?"

If Bilbo had been forgetful or ignorant or a combination of the two, he would have tightened his hold on little Thorin, who would have been greatly pained at such a motion. Thankfully, he was neither of these things ( _I'm not like Gandalf_ ). Still, he was surprised that he had thought of such a thing.

_I hope Thorin's clingy nature isn't rubbing off on me._

_And why should it?_ queried the voice of his Baggins side.

He did not have an answer for it, but aloud he said, "Sorry, Lord Elrond, I'm just a little wary. He tolerates Gandalf and me, but he's not overly fond of Elves. He might have a frightful temper tantrum if you were to hold him."

"We will never know unless we try," responded Elrond before giving his hands a small bounce.

Bilbo bit on his bottom lip. "Uh …"

"Don't be afraid, I won't hurt him," assured the wise Elf. "Please give him to me, Master Baggins."

The tone of his voice was soft and full of promise. It compelled Bilbo enough to heed his words and, before he knew it, hand baby Thorin over to him. The Dwarfling found himself separated (read: wrenched away unceremoniously, in his young mind) from the familiar warmth and held in foreign arms. He wanted to cry, but the coolness of the pixie-like being was … well, there were no words in his already lacking vocabulary to describe what this coolness was doing to him. But for your benefit, dear readers, it was as if the mere contact with Elrond had cooled his core, bringing his temperature down to a level that was still painful but somewhat bearable.

"Eh gug?" the baby gurgled, bemused.

Elrond smiled down at him, taking his response as a positive sign, before addressing Bilbo. "He's not struggling. I think he's starting to tolerate me."

"A far cry from acting like a stubborn ass in front of you when he initially refused to show you his map," observed the small creature.

His host grimaced at the memory. "Even though he is a baby, I'm expecting him to still act as such."

Feeling the Dwarf's cheeks, he continued, "Thorin will be alright with me. I will treat him with the utmost care. With the kind of fever he has, it could last up to two or three days, so he will need all the attention he can get so that his malady can be diminished."

Bilbo gulped.

_Two or three days? Thorin and the others will be progressing to the toddler stage the day after tomorrow. How will his illness affect his growth if it's not cured in time?_

"It will not affect his transition into the next phase of Gandalf's spell," Elrond said calmly, as if he read his thoughts. "Of that, I will make sure."

Bilbo stared at the Master of Rivendell, letting his gaze linger. Then he drew his eyes downwards to the bundle in his arms. Finally, he sighed.

"I'll take your word for it, Lord Elrond," he replied. "Just help Thorin, _please_."

Elrond patted the Hobbit's shoulder.

"I will," he promised. "Now be off with you. Go find Lindir and ask him to provide you with breakfast. Then I want you to go straight to your chambers afterwards and take rest for a few hours."

"Take rest? For a few hours?" Bilbo repeated, his eyes widening. "No, no, I can't do that. I want to come back and check on Thorin –"

"And you shall," Elrond cut him off, " _after_ you are well rested."

"B-but Thorin will miss me – I mean, he'll get crabby if I'm not here –"

"And _you_ will become my next patient if you don't get enough food and rest in your system," was the retort. "When you have taken care of yourself, you will be allowed to see Thorin."

Bilbo pinched the bridge of his nose, grumbling "Oh botheration" under his breath.

"Master Baggins."

The Elf's voice was stern. He said nothing more than those two words, but Bilbo could sense the weight of authority embedded in them. He might as well have repeated his command – no, a _demand._ Pure and simple.

_Playing the authority card … how unfair._

In his wisdom, he decided not to argue further with his host. It would merely be a waste of time, breath and energy.

_And it wouldn't be polite. I'm a guest in his home. My father would have been appalled at such gross behaviour._

"Very well," he muttered, offering the Elf master a bow. "I shall take your _advice_."

To Thorin, who issued a phlegmy cough, Bilbo said, "Behave yourself for Lord Elrond, little one. Everything's going to be okay – _you're_ going to be okay. I'll be back to see how you are soon."

He stretched a hand towards the dark-haired babe's head, paused as if he thought better of it, and withdrew it. Giving the tall being another bow, the Hobbit walked out of the healing chambers, carrying with him some hope.

_Eat now and rest afterwards. Then I can see Thorin._

At the same time, however, he also carried dread and anxiety.

 _But for now he won't see me. He won't understand why I left him with someone else, someone who is unfamiliar. It's not like I'm his father or anything, but right now I'm the next best thing. Well, not "best", I should say, and it's not as if I should stress about him too much, since he's still Thorin at the end of the day, with whom I hardly have the best relations, and … UGH, why_ _**do** _ _I ramble incoherently even in my own thoughts?!_

Simply put, Bilbo Baggins was worried for the health of one miserable, stubborn-headed Dwarfling by the name of Thorin Oakenshield.

And that worried him a _lot_.

* * *

After eating a sumptuous breakfast ( _gosh, I never realised how hungry I was_ ), Bilbo went to his quarters. He would have stopped at the nursery, but Lindir, no doubt under instructions from Lord Elrond, made sure that their guest went straight to his room to rest. He practically pushed the Hobbit along as he said, "I can assure you, Master Baggins, that your comrades are in the capable hands of my kin."

This would have been a perfect moment for Bilbo to drop a most deadpan retort to that statement, but he decided not to.

 _Even_ I _can only tolerate my sarcasm so much until I've reached my limit._

Soon, he found himself lying atop the covers of his bed. It was a few minutes after 9 o'clock; play-time would have started a little while ago. The thought of baby Dwalin kicking his handler square in the chin amused Bilbo, but the thought that followed after – a runny-nosed Thorin coughing all over the show with a dozen or so Elves surrounding him – sobered him.

 _The poor thing must be wondering what's going on. Leaving him with Lord Elrond was a gamble, but if there are other Elves around, he'll have an awful time. It's like that one time when Adalgrim left Esmeralda with Lobelia Sackville-Baggins so that he could get her some medicine for her cold. When he came back, the poor girl was crying so much that she was nearly dehydrated and her throat became sore, which she also needed medicine for. Méraude confiscated his tobacco pouch, gave him nothing to eat for dinner_ and _supper, and she made him sleep on the floor of the drawing room – for five days straight, Adalgrim was punished for doing such a daft thing!_

 _Now look what's happened, I did a daft thing, too_ , thought Bilbo with a pitiful sigh.

But what frustrated him the most was the fact that he was worried about Thorin Oakenshield in the first place. Again, the very idea that the miserable lummox – who thought little of the Hobbit and his so-called burglar skills – was causing the aforementioned Hobbit such anxiety did not sit well with him. Now that he was a baby, Thorin suddenly decided to latch himself onto Bilbo as if he were the best thing since the Arkenstone.

_But then what's he going to say when he returns to normal? "Thank you, Bilbo, now sod off"? Why, I'd be surprised if he uttered the words "Thank you" at all! But yes, it would be rather typical of him to brush me off as if the incident never occurred. I don't expect him to be grateful, and I won't give him a reason to think that I enjoyed the experience of caring for him._

_And yet …_

Bilbo stared at the ceiling, his gaze hard.

… _if I couldn't care less about taking care of him, then why do I find myself worrying about him?_

The question, much like his present confusion, numbed his mind. Combined with his weariness, it was enough for him to growl, turn onto his side and squeeze his eyes shut. He could feel the edges of his teeth digging uncomfortably into his bottom lip. Right now, all Bilbo wanted was to feel nothing. Not pain, not confusion, not frustration, not weariness and certainly not worry.

Just … _nothing_.

His body relaxed on its own accord, letting the clutches of sleep envelope him in a comforting cocoon.

_He means nothing to me …_

_Just like_ I _mean nothing to_ him _…_

* * *

" _Mama?"_

" _Yes, Bilbo?"_

" _I don't feel so good."_

_Belladonna regarded the small boy from under her long lashes. She beckoned him to come closer, after which she balanced herself on her haunches. She felt his forehead with the back of her hand before moving it to his plump cheeks, both sides of his neck and his palms. Before long, she addressed him:_

" _Oh dear, looks like somebody's come down with a little fever. Do you want me to make you some lemon tea with honey, hmm?"_

_Bilbo nodded, his curls bouncing._

_Belladonna stood up, led her son to the settee and covered him with a sleeping rug. Snuggling in the warmth, he watched his mother leave the room. His head felt heavy and hot as if someone had stuffed it with overheated fluff. His throat was especially yucky, all sore and scratchy. He had not felt this bad in a long time, not since the time that he once ate a poisonous wild flower that he came across when he meandered around the forest with his cousins._

_Several minutes later, Belladonna came back with a steaming cup and saucer in her hands. She sat down on the settee, holding the apparatus steady as Bilbo immediately cuddled against her side. Wrapping an arm around his waist and rubbing his lower her back, she said, "Sit up straighter, darling, otherwise the tea will spill over."_

_He did as he was told, and he took long sips of the tea every time she pressed the cup to his lips. The lemon and honey taste was sweet and pleasant, soothing his throat. The steam seemed to clear his head, for his temples were relieved of the painful weight pressing against them._

" _Feeling better?" his mother asked after he had finished._

_The boy nodded. "Thank you, Mama."_

" _Anything for you, my darling."_

_Bilbo curled up against her, savouring her warmth and the scent of cinnamon that emanated from her person._

" _I love you, Mama," he murmured._

_She laughed._

" _Funny how you only say that when you need me or want something," she said._

" _But I_ do _love you," he protested, almost whining. "I just don't say it out loud a lot. I love you all the time even when I'm not sick. Please believe me."_

" _I know you do, darling," Belladonna replied, twirling one of his copper curls. "I don't expect you to say so all the time. Love can be expressed in different ways without saying anything at all."_

_Bilbo digested her words. He was quiet for a minute or two, and then he said again, quite emphatically:_

" _I love you, Mama."_

_His mother said nothing; instead, she pressed her lips against his forehead, her smile almost leaving an imprint on his skin._

* * *

"Bilbo, wake up. Come on, my dear fellow, do wake up."

A hand pushed gently against Bilbo's shoulder. It continued to push until he emitted a groan. Rolling onto his back, he opened his eyes, still filled with fatigue, and found himself staring up at the wizened face of Gandalf the Grey. _Talk about a sight for sore eyes._

"Couldn't you knock?" was the first thing the small creature asked.

"I did – _twice_ ," answered Gandalf, rolling his eyes. "You didn't answer. I assumed you were still asleep, so I decided to come in and wake you up myself."

"How thoughtful," Bilbo said with a yawn as he sat up. Stretching his arms above his head, his eyes darted around the room. Golden rays of sunlight painted the walls, adding lustre to everything from the bed-frame to the wooden crib –

The Hobbit froze.

_Golden rays …_

_Crib …_

"Gandalf, what time is it?" he asked, filled with dread.

The Wizard answered, "It's about quarter past six in the evening."

"Quarter past _six_?!" Bilbo exclaimed. "I've been asleep for _nine hours_?!"

"You were conked out," the other being explained. "Lindir had been in here twice to wake you up for lunch and afternoon tea, but you were dead to the world. I believe that even the Valar would not have been able to wake you."

"B-but Thorin," stammered Bilbo. "What about Thorin? How is he? _Where_ is he? Lord Elrond promised me that I could see him after I had rested."

"Well, you _were_ still resting up until this point," commented Gandalf. "And as for Thorin, he's been in the healing chambers ever since you deposited him there this morning."

"Is he okay?"

"I'm not sure, Bilbo. I've been in the nursery almost the entire day. Likewise, Lord Elrond has been in the healing chambers and has never left it once. He takes his duties very seriously."

"Goodness, if he's been there all day, then Thorin must be sicker than I thought!" the Hobbit said, horror-stricken.

Covering his face with his hands, he mumbled, "How could I have left him alone? And why didn't I take his ailment seriously enough? The signs were all there, and I paid them no mind. I wouldn't have done this with my Took cousins, oh no – their mothers would have roasted me on a spit and soaked my cooked body in vinegar to render me inedible if such a thing were to occur. Honestly, I really cannot fathom my own imbecility –"

"Do let me know when you're done feeling sorry for yourself so that I may engage in a decent conversation with you," cut in Gandalf, who hardly looked impressed. "Self-pity doesn't suit you in the least."

The Hobbit rubbed his temples, looking rather sheepish.

"I can't help it," he responded meekly. "When someone as young and vulnerable as Thorin is in a terrible state, the last thing you want to do is let them down. They depend on you, and it hurts them when they've suddenly got no one to help them. And I … it just hurts _me_ knowing that I couldn't do anything."

"Balderdash and tommyrot," scoffed the Wizard, shaking his head. "You did all you could to ease Thorin's pain. Yes, the methods didn't pay off like you wanted, but the main thing is that you tried."

"And what good is trying?" Bilbo whispered, staring straight at him.

Gandalf stared back.

"It is a great deal better than doing nothing," he replied.

A pause.

"And when you're doing it for someone else, no matter the level of success or failure, it only shows how much you love them," he added.

Sometimes it amazed Bilbo that the Grey Wizard could be wise when he wanted to. A little bit cheesy as well, but wise. Although he could be too much for him to handle at times in terms of personality and unpredictability, and also in spite of his spelling mistake that had dragged the small creature and practically the whole of Rivendell into a two week nightmare, Bilbo did consider Gandalf to be a most valued, decent companion whom he trusted and cared for. If his mother had planted the seed of adventure within him, then it was the tall being who had encouraged it to grow. And when Bilbo felt that the Dwarves were undermining him, at least he could turn to Gandalf, who provided him with comfort and strength … _and_ the occasional pipe-weed when they smoked together.

" _Love can be expressed in different ways without saying anything at all …"_

_Thorin …_

"Can I go and see Thorin?" Bilbo asked softly. "I want to see how he is."

Gandalf's lips curved into a warm smile.

"I was actually sent here to wake you up for supper," he answered, "but I don't think Lord Elrond will mind too much if he finds that you are well rested."

Bilbo nodded. "More than enough. Can I go now, please?"

* * *

Every race, thought Lord Elrond, was remarkable in their own respective way. But when it came to Hobbits, he thought them especially remarkable. Proud as Men, appreciative of nature as Elves and shrewd as Dwarves (not to mention the similar height they shared with the latter), Hobbits were extraordinary creatures – and underestimated ones, to be sure.

So of course he was surprised, yet simultaneously unsurprised, when Bilbo Baggins suddenly came striding into the healing chambers with a determined air about him. He practically marched right up and stood before him with lustrous eyes, his legs akimbo and his hands on his hips.

"Good evening, Lord Elrond, may I see Thorin?" were the first words that came flying out of his mouth.

The Elf's grey eyes took in his appearance.

"Good evening, Master Baggins," he greeted before asking, "I see you are well rested, but have you had supper yet?"

Bilbo waved a dismissive hand. "Please, sir, you told me that I could see Thorin when I had taken rest without ever mentioning anything about my supper intake. Even if that were the case, the last thing on my mind is eating anything right now."

"Hmm, so it seems," Elrond murmured. Admittedly, a small part of him was impressed with the Hobbit's gall; a large part of him, however, felt concerned about his guest's well-being. "But be it as it may, I still do recommend that you eat something. Hobbits eat seven times a day, if I recall –""

"With all due respect," interrupted Bilbo, his hand waving again, "I've been travelling with 12 Dwarves for virtually two months, eating nothing but stews, soup and sandwiches, as well as the occasional apple, if Bombur doesn't pilfer them first. I think I can afford to miss a meal at this stage."

He lowered his voice as he stated:

"If I can't see Thorin now, I'd surely lose my appetite anyway."

His host stared at him for several more seconds before he heaved a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"If I were to ever meet another Hobbit, Master Baggins," he remarked, as if he were talking to himself, "I hope he isn't as brazen as you are."

Bilbo could not help but smile, just a teensy bit abashed.

_If my kinsmen had to see me acting unlike my Baggins self, they would hardly recognise me. The way I bounded out of Bag End and went gallivanting around with a group of Dwarves for months, they probably would have thought that I went mad, or been magically turned into a Dwarf – or both! Dear me, never mind a stain on my character, it's more likely to be an ink blot of epic proportions._

Caught up in his thoughts, Bilbo nearly missed Elrond's next words:

"I have managed to alleviate the symptoms of Thorin's fever. He's still feeling sickly, but at least it's not as painful as it was before."

Relief blossomed forth from the Hobbit's core like a comforting warmth from a fire.

"Thank Yavanna for that," he declared. "And what about the duration of the fever? Does that mean Thorin will recover more quickly?"

Elrond nodded. "Perhaps tomorrow his fever will subside and he will be back to his normal self … by which I mean "healthy." You may see him now if you wish – he's wide awake, although he has been struggling to rest in the last few hours, of course."

He gestured towards a white wooden crib in the corner of the healing chambers. It had been placed near a window, through which the setting sun sent its beaming rays. The sound of the waterfall was constant yet not overpowering in terms of noise; it was soothing and pleasant to the ear.

And there, lying in the crib with opening and closing fists, and a dusky face with slightly vacant ice-blue eyes …

"Oh, Thorin!" Bilbo cried, rushing to the wooden structure and leaning over it to inspect his charge.

Little Thorin's skin was less red than the last time his handler saw him. A globule of saliva was foaming on the tips of his lips like a small white froth, and his breaths were not as wheezy as they were before. Lastly, a creased expression that all but pointed towards being absolutely miserable for the sake of it was plastered across his face. All in all, Thorin Oakenshield was indeed beginning to return to a healthy state.

"I'm glad you're okay, Thorin," Bilbo whispered softly, smiling warmly all the while. "I was so worried … well, just a _little_ worried, but worried all the same. Now you're looking better. What a trooper you are!"

Those blue eyes turned upwards. Seeing the curly-haired creature in his vision, the Dwarfling raised his arm, his pudgy fingers uncurling as he opened his clenched hand.

"Ag gah," he gurgled.

"And "ah gah" to you, too," was the reply.

He reached into the crib without thinking about it and touched the small digits with an index finger. They were warm, soft and smooth; the mere idea that these same fingers could expertly close around the hilt of a sword was laughable. Right now, they momentarily stiffened at the contact before closing around Bilbo's finger, giving it a tug. It was a simple action, one that was quick as it had come, for baby Thorin loosened his grip before turning his attention to the fascinating ceiling beams. For Bilbo, however, it was a touching gesture.

_Unusual, yet touching nonetheless. Maybe it's his way of thanking me?_

_Hmph, infant or not, that's hardly his Majesty's style …_

He gazed at the tyke, who had turned back to stare at his handler: his mouth widened, showing off his gums, and those big blue eyes shone in a way that the taller creature had never seen before. He reached out with his hand once more.

"Um mah," he burbled.

Bilbo felt his lips curling upwardly once more.

… _but then again, I could stand being proved wrong by the likes of Thorin Oakenshield himself._

"I trust you are satisfied with Thorin's progress?" chimed in Lord Elrond as he came to stand beside Bilbo. Raising his eyebrows in amusement at Thorin who suddenly looked away once more to observe the beams, he continued: "Again, his fever may reach its full circle by tomorrow. He can then leave the healing chambers and move between your quarters and the nursery. I've no doubt that his fellow Dwarves are missing his presence."

Bilbo snickered.

"That's true, and I'm willing to bet that Fíli and Kíli are missing him the most," he remarked. "Funny how they recognise their relationship with him as well as their brotherly bond whilst they're babies."

A pause.

"Not that they've interacted with each other or anything, and of course they're still too young to remember, but I wonder if the other Dwarves can recollect their … um …"

His voice trailed off.

Elrond blinked. "Remember their what, Master Baggins?"

Bilbo bit the inside of his cheek. "I, uh, don't suppose Gandalf told you about my companions being … you know … _friendly_ with each other, by any chance?"

The Elf blinked again before it was his turn to chuckle.

"Oh, _that_ ," he said, shaking his head. "You're speaking about their being romantically involved with each other, correct?"

The Hobbit nodded, again looking somewhat uncomfortable at the thought of pondering the love lives of his companions when they were innocent little babies.

Said Elrond, "Yes, I do know all about that. But Gandalf didn't tell me."

Bilbo was bemused. "Oh? Then how did you know?" he asked.

His host shrugged his shoulders. "It's fairly obvious. I noticed on the first day when you all trooped into Rivendell that there were those among you who bore feelings of a romantic nature. It was somewhat amusing seeing them trying to contain themselves. Personally, I found Dwalin's attempts to communicate with young Ori from the other table during lunch without Dori getting suspicious very entertaining and endearing."

A groan sounded from the smaller creature as he smacked his forehead.

"Lords alive, am I the _only_ one who never knew that these blooming Dwarves fancied each other?" he moaned. "I may as well have been living under a rock all this time!"

"Love reveals itself at the strangest of times," said the wise Elf. "In times of turbulence, strife, confusion or peace, it makes itself known when it chooses. It can be explicit such as in the form of words, but often using the phrase "I love you" isn't the only way to show somebody that you cherish them."

There was no doubting his words of wisdom, but Bilbo still felt like a bit of a fool for not seeing the signs. Even if he had to witness one solitary peck on the cheek or a careless whisper in one's ear, just _one_ spoken word of affection would have been a nice way to give him a heads-up about the current goings-on in their group. Besides that, he was curious as to how and why these Dwarves started courting each other in the first place.

 _Again, a quest that could end with us all burning in Dragon-fire isn't the ideal time and place for the hormones to get out of control. But really, I can't imagine why dear little Ori and a big, burly brute like Dwalin would be taken with one another. Óin might be a little feisty, but I wouldn't have thought that a hot-headed healer who's practically married to his craft would find interest in – how do I say this without sounding_ _**too** _ _rude? – a hardscrabble, handicapped toy-maker unless it were in a medical sense. And it seems like Glóin would agree with me, judging from his response when he found out about them._

_Then there's Dori and Balin: Dori always fancied himself as cultured, but his fussiness, pushiness and dramatic nature – especially around his brothers – would surely test Balin's patience, and the last thing Balin needs is unnecessary drama, although he strikes me as the type who'd let it all wash over him in the hopes that it will end quickly. And Bofur and Nori …they're mischievous souls, no doubt about it, and there's no breaking that bond. But Bofur's more open and cheerful, whereas Nori's furtive and secretive – he hardly shows any emotion._

_So then,_ _**how** _ _did these Dwarves fall in love … and_ _**why** _ _?_

 _Were they going to keep it a secret from each other – from_ _**me** _ _– until the end?_

These were the questions that Bilbo sorely wished that he had answers to. If Lord Elrond, and possibly Gandalf, could understand their being together from the get-go, then he jolly well wanted to understand, too.

_Perhaps as these two weeks unfold, the respective stages of this spell might unveil some things about my comrades that were never apparent to me when they were adults, things that might even explain what exactly they see in each other._

_Don't be daft, Bilbo_ , the Baggins-ish voice in his mind chided. _As if they will remember that aspect of their past adult lives. Caring for a lame duck is better than maintaining two jackrabbits, as Father would say – let's pray that you have 13 of the former!_

"Ayek," coughed Thorin. "Uh guh."

"Has Thorin eaten yet?" Bilbo asked, pulled out of his pondering.

"Like you, he has not," answered Elrond, dryness lacing his words. "It's after half past six now, so it would be best to feed him right at this moment and let him sleep early. We want him to be well-rested and comfortable as much as possible. By the time his night-time feeding comes, we'll see how far he has progressed."

"I really can't thank you enough for all your help, Lord Elrond," his guest said, bowing his head. "I mean it from the bottom of my heart, I do. I speak for Thorin when I say that it was awfully kind of you to take care of him when he was feeling incredibly poorly. That he has allowed an Elf – and an extremely hospitable and wise and, er, experienced Elf like you – to come within _centimetres_ of his person speaks volumes about his disposition towards you."

The Elf smirked.

"If he had to choose between being handled by a Goblin or by my kin, he would most certainly choose the former, scabby hands and all," he joked.

Bilbo tried (and failed) to hide a chortle. "Shame, your attendants try their best. Personally, it wouldn't be enough for me to leave them alone with my own cousins, but … their endurance levels are to be commended."

"Uh _guuuh_ ," whined Thorin. "Gug gah gaaahh!"

"Alright, your Majesty, you'll be fed in a minute," his handler tutted before turning his attention back to the tall being. "In all seriousness, though, I do appreciate everything that you have done for me, for Thorin and for our companions. Not many people would want to deal with this lot, especially when we're already overstaying our welcome. So thank you."

Elrond dipped his head graciously.

"No need to thank me, Master Baggins. Remember that the Rivendell folk are willing to help and serve you in any capacity during this entire ordeal – you don't need to run this whole operation by yourself lest your ambition is to tire yourself out. We're here if you need us …"

He paused.

"… and you can just mention my name if they happen to refuse your requests for assistance."

Bilbo grinned. "I'll remember that."

"Good," said Elrond. "Now, as Thorin cannot be moved back to his quarters just yet, I assume that _you_ will sleep here in the healing chambers tonight? If that's the case, we've already prepared a bed for you. It's right here, opposite the crib, so that you can be near him."

_Goodness, but they do think of everything, these Elves! Thank Yavanna that Thorin's a quiet sleeper, otherwise I wouldn't be able to cope with him if he had loud, deep breathing. I don't suppose babies would be able to do that, but a feverish Dwarf baby is possibly a different story._

"Marvellous!" the Hobbit declared. "I don't want to let Thorin out of my sight, not after how I dismissed his fever the first time around. I _have_ to make sure that he gets better, otherwise he won't let me hear the end of it when he gets older."

Elrond chuckled. "Only ever happy when they have something to gripe about – that's the Dwarvish race in a nutshell. Now if you'll excuse me, Master Baggins, I must go and prepare Thorin's feed. And I shall see to it that your supper is prepared as well, which you _will_ eat, otherwise I will have to hold you down and spoon-feed you as if you were a baby, too."

He dipped his head once more and turned on his heels before Bilbo could respond to that statement ( _who knew Elves could be so cheeky? The Rivendell strain must be unique in that regard_ ). The small creature and his charge were alone in the healing chambers. Outside, the twilight sky was fast turning dark, soon to give way to a black velvet strip pinned by stars.

_The second day of this rotten spell is nearing its end. Tomorrow will be the last day of the baby stage. I'm both overjoyed and scared witless at the thought._

Sighing, Bilbo looked down into the crib. Baby Thorin's eyes were fixed on him intently, and his whole mouth was set in a pout. He looked terribly serious and anguished at the same time. It was as if he was saying, "Okay, I've done waiting, now could you _please_ pay attention to me and feed me before I throw my metaphorical toys out of the cot?"

Bilbo said not a word, but merely reached in to give him a light tickle underneath his chin. This elicited a delighted squeal and a giggle: Thorin's mouth transformed into a gummy smile and his eyes softened almost immediately.

"Ghee hee heyeh heyeh eh!" he burbled.

"Silly old sausage," murmured the Hobbit, his index finger touching the tyke's small digits once more. "Let's just hope that you won't give me grief tomorrow like you did today, and that applies to the next several days, too."

Thorin did not gurgle his usual "Ah gah" phrase. His facial expression was back to being creased and miserable-looking ( _a face that only a mother could love_ ), but his eyes were giving off that unfamiliar shine again. He closed his fingers around the larger digit, tugging on it as his eyes fluttered open and close. This time, however, he did not let go. He still held on even when he momentarily dropped off to sleep a few minutes later.

Confusing though this curly-haired creature could be, something within Thorin Oakenshield's tiny frame told him that if he let him go, there was no way of getting him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course, as I was writing this chapter, I had to go and get sick, too ... TWICE. -_-;; Now I feel extra bad for making poor Thorin sick. At least he has his curly-haired Hobbit to look after his miserable self (in sickness and in health, Thorin will ALWAYS be miserable).
> 
> Thanks ever so much for the lovely feedback on the last chapter, ducklings! And apologies again for the late update - I hope the length of this chappie makes up for it. :) I'm really itching to get onto the next stage of the spell because that means we'll finally get the Dwarves to interact with each other and show off their personalities (and get up to mischief, of course!). Who knows, I might just stream through the last day of their being babies and get straight onto the Terrible Twos. We'll see. X3
> 
> Let me know what you thought of this chapter, and thankies for reading!
> 
> *~AI07~* :)


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